


Endgame

by Tsubasa504



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Loki's Trying, Working passed their differences, he really is, hurt!Tony, it's not going so well
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:48:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25409446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsubasa504/pseuds/Tsubasa504
Summary: The dust caused by Thanos has hardly settled; there is no time for fighting or weakness, a new mission has been given. It's time to reassemble because the world needs them more than ever. It's the last mission to save humanity, can they pick themselves up and become the team they need to be, or will the world suffer their failure?
Relationships: Loki & Tony Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had the outline of this story ready before the movie Endgame every came out. It was sort of my idea of what was going to happen after Infinity War, but I never got around to publishing it. Now, I finally feel ready to start putting out the chapters I've finished.
> 
> I didn't really know what to name this story, so I kept the name Endgame because it is based on that, but definitely does not follow the movie. I really ended up hating the movie and it destroyed so much of my interest in Marvel films. Kind of sad, they had been doing so great until then. But, to each their own, I know some people liked it and I'm glad for that.
> 
> As I started writing this way over a year ago I know my writing style might change a little with the next coming chapters. I'm really sorry if that happens. I'll try my best to stick with how the first chapter is, but I always find it hard to keep everything the same especially when I write longer stories. I also don't speak much English nowadays, I just write in English. Even so, I promise to do my best. If you catch something super weird, I guess you can let me know and I might get around to fixing it.
> 
> With that, please enjoy the first chapter.

– _There was an idea, to bring together a group of remarkable people;  
to see if we could become something more_ –

Dust. The word fluttered fleetingly through his mind, a quiet voice, just an observation, before he realized that _that_ was what his best friend was turning into. Steve's name still on his lips as he crumbled away, wide-eyed; pleading. Then, there was just silence and the encroaching forest of Wakanda around him.

"Bucky?" His voice sounded small, barely a whisper in the wind. He stared at the dirt on the ground, trying to pick out anything left of his friend. But nothing remained, no vibranium arm, no nothing. Bucky was lost to him again, and just when he had thought he had gotten him back. The mind control HYDRA had placed on him had finally been unraveled and there had been hope of a better future. A future for them to become a team again. To become friends. Family.

Steve felt a micro-shudder pass through him as his mind finally caught up to what had happened. Felt the saliva dry on his tongue and the breath catch in his throat. The very air around him became heavy. Leadened with dust and dirt and the smell of ozone from the alien weaponry. It all numbed his senses, clogged his nose and throat and prickled at his eyes.

Bucky was gone.

A strong hand gripped his shoulder and Thor was saying something next to him. Words that filtered through to him as if passing through thick cotton. He tried grasping at them, but their meaning was lost. His mind hyper-sensitive to the dust upon his lips; his tongue, and the world shrinking and growing and tugging at him from all sides.

Shock.

He had gone through shock before. Had lost people before, but this felt different. He had never seen anyone crumble away and turn to dust. Not like this. Nothing could have prepared him, and the feeling of powerlessness that filled him made the weight of the loss all that much worse.

He needed to sit down; needed to gather himself and move on. Because that was what soldiers did.

"I'm sorry, my friend. I failed to stop him." Thor looked pained by his side, heterogeneous eyes sunken and tired. It was a sight that shot right through his shock and doused him in cold water.

He had no time for shock or sorrow. Grievances would have to wait. If Thor could remain his regal self than Steve could muster up just that extra ounce needed to go on. To fight what needed to be fought so that no more unnecessary lives had to be taken.

For but a moment, anger simmered in his chest, but the feeling of defeat quickly smothered it. "Where is he?"

"He has used the stones to leave. I do not believe he remains upon Midgard."

He nodded in something akin to agreement and took in the upturned ground around them and the downed trees that lay scattered about, as if a bomb had gone off. This battle, like many previously, had ended in failure. A bleak mark upon an already bleak record. Two years off the radar—on the run, and he still could not hold on to that which was important to him. Friends; family, they all withered away before him.

With a deep breath he straightened, twisted the thin—too light—shield to a better position on his arm, and turned to take in the demigod. He looked dirty and tired, but surprisingly healthy for having arrived so promptly upon the battlefield. The only exception being the heterogeneous eyes. Those were new. As was his hammer, which now took the form of an axe. Steve blinked at that but put it off as an Asgardian thing.

"You okay?" he wondered, clearing his throat from the tightness that yet remained.

Thor's smile was painful, barely a twist of the lips. "No, shield-friend, I can't say I am. Much has happened since we last saws. I have, yet again, lost my brother. And my father as well." Those oddly colored eyes glanced out at the distance, and Steve knew the man was looking at something far away. A place he could never see, but the longing look, that was something he could at least understand. "None remains of my kingdom. No home for my people to return to. It is a bleak future we face now."

There would be no condolence Steve could give that would ever be worth it. The man was moving on because that was all he could do. They had no time to bother with the past, no matter how appealingly it beckoned for them to lose themselves in its memory; in its possibilities.

In the quietness that had fallen around them, Steve and Thor could pick out the panicked shouts of the Wakandans. Their wails of grief filtering through the heavily leafed forest. A sad, desolate sound. Steve tensed upon hearing it, biting down hard on his lip to steal himself for the world they would step out into the moment they passed the tree line. Half of the people would be gone. That was their new reality. It was one that would take a while to come to terms with.

"We have failed.

"Aye, so we have."

Rustling and hurried footsteps were heading their way, and Steve turned to greet them, be they friend or foe, with a grim look upon his face.

"Rogers!" Bruce shouted, stumbling out from between the trees. The man had taken himself out of his machinery, covered in dirt and grim and with a desperate look upon his face. A look that would have mirrored Steve's earlier. "Vision—Vision's gone; his stone got taken and… Wanda… she's gone, Steve. Gone… just became dust right before my eyes."

The trembling in the man's hands and the pallor of his skin twisted something in Steve's stomach. Bruce Banner was a scientist, not a fighter. It was the Hulk that was their main tank, the smasher on the team; not Bruce. Bruce who would coil himself up in heating blankets after a fight and do breathing exercises to calm himself. He was their man of reason, always stepping in before dispute could arise and calm the nerves of their group of misfits. If Steve had it his way, Bruce would never see the field of battle. He should not have to stand trembling before him like he did now. It did not sit well with Steve. But even so, Bruce had been the first to step up to fight against Thanos, steel in his usually soft eyes. Two years he had been gone. Two years that Steve knew nothing about other than that the man had been stranded on a garbage dump of a planet. Alone and with the Hulk in the driver's seat. The knowledge sat like hot iron in Steve's belly, and on top of that, he had let the man fight when the real fighter, the Hulk, hid himself away; cowering in fear while Bruce shouldered a burden unfit for a scientist.

"We've failed. Thanos has all seven of the stones," Steve said, his voice flat, and then pushed on more quietly, "Bucky too. He's gone." Bruce was staring at him with wide understanding eyes, and Steve realized that that was not the future he wanted. He never wanted a future where people understood loss. That was what had made him so adamant in entering World War II. To fight the Nazis and stop the senseless killing. Such understanding was unnecessary. He fought wars not to create more, but for a future without them. Understanding loss and suffering would not lead them to salvation, only a life divorced from such darkness could lead the world into an era of peace.

He ran a dirt covered hand through his long hair, grimacing when it caught and tangled around his fingertips, and glanced at the towering peaks of Wakanda's capital, Birnin Zana, that loomed above the trees. Thor and Bruce followed his sight. "We need to regroup. The enemy is yet to be gone."

Smoke curled its way up and darkened the sky with its soot.

Thor clasped him yet again on his shoulder and gave a sharp nod to Bruce. "I shall make certain that the forces of Thanos can take no more from us." With that, Thor stormed out of their sight, heading straight for the open plains they had come from.

Steve and Bruce turned to search for the rest of their group. Not that there was much to find. Vision's body laid in a broken heap among roots and bushes. And like Bruce had said, no sign of Wanda could be found.

"We can't just leave him there," Bruce said, eyes fixed on the empty spot where the mind stone had once sat.

Steve sunk down and laid a hand over the dark red of the man's arm, and shuddered at the coldness he felt. The fluidity that had once existed to the vibranium skin was gone, leaving hardness and the hollow clang of the interior body that contained nothing but fiber optic networks and long rows of cables connected to an array of hard drives.

Vision had never seemed less human to Steve than he did then.

"We'll come back for him."

Bruce did not argue against him and just nodded slowly. It made Steve feel bad. Like his decision had somehow taken the humanity out of the Vision's death.

He promised himself he would come back even if no one else cared to give Vision the proper respect of one fallen in battle.

The next one they stumbled upon was War Machine. Who was down on his knees, face-plat popped open and metal hands digging deep furrows into the ground. It was a sad sight and told more than Steve wanted to know. He cleared his throat loudly and put extra force into his steps as he neared the man. Hoping to keep himself from getting blasted into a tree. "Colonel James Rhodes."

The man stilled, machinery whining, but no weaponry was pointed in their direction.

"Mission report, soldier," he ordered, hoping the familiarity of the words would pull the man out from wherever his mind had wandered off to.

"We were engaging alien targets that had slipped off to circle through the main fight in the forest. Together we managed to hinder their advancement, but then, it all just… stopped. Things became…"

The man stared long and hard at the ground, but he had trailed off. "Who were 'we'?"

"Falcon… Sam."

Another painful twist went through Steve and he had to close his eyes for a second, another deep breath. "What happened to Flacon?"

"It was quiet."

"I asked you what happened."

Dark eyes blinked awake and Rhodes stared up at him. The man looked startled as if for the first time he truly realized who stood before him. "Captain Rogers. What happened?"

He suppressed a scowl.

Bruce stepped forward bringing both of their attentions on him; the man was twining his hands like he often did when nervous or the center of attention. A trait clearly not lost after two years on another planet. "We lost. Thanos has won. He's annihilated half the population."

Seeing the realization sink in to someone's eyes was an eye-opening experience. Especially when it had to do with your friends' death. "Sam. The Falcon, so he's really gone? Just like that. Turned to dust?"

"Afraid so," Steve said, unable to stare the man in the face and so reverted his eyes to the scratched heavy armor. It was so unlike Starks. And that thought just brought up more questions in his head. Was Stark alive? Would he know what had transpired?

"So, we're the only ones left?" Rhodes took a moment to process his own question, neither Steve nor Bruce answering him, then he looked panicked as he glanced up into the sky. "I need to go. If half the population just disappears like this, it'll be chaos. The world governments will declare war on one another."

Bruce drew in a sharp breath next to him. "They'll search for someone to blame. To point the finger at someone even if it means conjuring up an enemy where there is none. Oh, God. The world will fall into another war."

That was something Steve hoped to keep from happening. Enough lives had been lost. "Go, colonel. I believe you are needed elsewhere. We will handle what remains of the alien forces here."

The man nodded, drawing himself up and powering up the powerful thrusters on his hands and feet, but hesitated in blasting off. "About Sam, will there be a—" He looked lost and Steve wanted to cry because he knew the question. He also knew there was no time for funerals.

"Don't let another war break out," he said instead of answering.

Rhodes blinked at him, and in his armor, they stood at about the same height. The man was military enough to read through what was left unsaid and dropped the face plate. And Steve continued staring into the cold artificial eyes. Over the high-powered whine, he could just pick out the mechanical voice of Rhodes'. "Yes, sir. You can count on me."

Then the man was gone, and there was only the two of them again.

Bruce and Steve shared a long look.

"We should return," Bruce said.

Nodding, Steve started picking his way in the direction of the towering peak that stood visible in all areas of Wakanda. "Do you need to pick up your armor?"

"Nah." The man ran a tired hand through his hair, ruffling it and making it stick up in all directions. "Thrusters stopped working after the last hit I took. I'm going to need something that can do some heavy lifting to be able to get that piece of junk out."

Steve smiled, a small forced kind of smile that tugged unnaturally at the corner of his lips. His amusement not quite able to force itself out. Not that it mattered, Bruce was turned away, eyes focused upon something in the distance.

"Hey, isn't that…"

The man stomped off deeper into the woods, leaving Steve behind. And with nothing to do, he followed after.

The talking raccoon looking creature that had been arguing with Bucky sat motionless on the forest floor. Bruce creeped closer to it, a worried look carved into his face.

"You okay?" Bruce asked gently, reaching out with a hesitant hand that never touched its target.

"Leave me alone," the raccoon hissed. "Haven't you guys done enough. Just go already, I certainly don't need you."

It was obvious the creature was grieving. Those dark round eyes staring blankly ahead while a clawed hand scraped through soft dirt. Bruce hunkered down next to him but made no move to touch him.

"Hey, now. Nothing can get done sitting here. Why don't you come back with us to the tower? I'm sure they can take a look at those injuries you have."

"Piss off, I said."

Steve wanted to step in, but he had never dealt with a non-humanoid before. A talking animal was still something he was trying to process. It was best he left all the talking to Bruce. The man had after all been god knows where for the last two years, and maybe the sight would not be so strange to him.

"Groot." The creature's head shot up at Bruce's word, anger clear and shimmering in his eyes. Steve tensed at that. "That was your friend's name, right."

"Friend?" he sneered. "Kid, more like it. He shouldn't even have been here."

Everyone fell silent, and Steve shifted uncomfortably but remained firmly where he was. He remembered the small tree creature that he had greeted earlier well. Had been amazed at the strengths of its reaching branches that took down all enemies around it.

"Saving the universe. What a fucking joke." The small fist made a large indent in the ground when it slammed down in anger. Furry shoulders shaking. "Fucking joke is what it is, all of it. It's not the universe that needs saving."

Closing his eyes, Steve made his decision.

"No, it isn't," he agreed, finally bringing himself to move forward; to kneel down and stare honestly into large saddened eyes. "Sometimes, some of us are given the opportunity to save more than just that which is in front of us, and when that opportunity comes, I think it's our duty to take it. Not because we're able to, but because we need to. Not for the universe, maybe not even for our friends, but for ourselves. So that when we get home, we can stare ourselves in the mirror and not hate what stares back."

The raccoon—Rocket he would learn—turned away, a silent sob wracking through his body. "Go away," he whispered, and Steve did just that, dragging Bruce with him

"I'm sure he'll pull himself out of that. He seems strong." The words were not said to anyone specifically, just Steve talking to himself.

Bruce answered, nonetheless. "So are you."

He blinked down at the scientist. And part of him really wished the man had not disappeared two years ago. When Tony and he had needed his level-headedness the most.

"I'm glad you're back."

He really meant that.

—V—V—

General Okoye looked as imposing as ever when Bruce and he finally caught up to the rest of the forces. Next to her stood a man Steve had not met before but knew as the leader of the Jabari Tribe. If he remembered correctly from all the letters from Bucky, the man was called M'Baku.

Both the two war leaders were tense; gazing out over the smoking field of a once evergreen plain.

"General," Steve greeted, his eyes following where she was looking. "The enemy is retreating. Will you pursue?"

She snapped towards him, wild; beautiful in her own way. "The forces of Wakanda prioritizes the injured before the enemy. This battle is over, let them retreat, their leader is gone, and we have lost many. Far too many. You may pursue if you want, Captain Rogers, but we of Wakanda will tend to our own and look to a brighter future."

He shook his head, holding his hands up before him. "We have no reason to continue this fight. Our business is with Thanos; sadly, those followers of his cannot lead us to him. Not with him using all seven of the stones at his disposal. It'll be impossible to catch him as it is now."

M'Baku stood like a guard next to the general, his eyes cold as he took in Steve and Bruce. "You have led much suffering upon Wakanda. And you led a war upon us that was unbeatable. I should kill you where you stand for it." Steve tightened, coiled and ready, and drew his shield closer. "But, our leader, King T'Challa, believed in you. Believed you could save us. And as much as it pains me, I will believe in you, too. A time of darkness has come and Wakanda cannot fight through it alone. Not without our King."

Steve stilled, freezing in place as his breath caught in his throat. More sadness, more senseless death. He thought he had prepared himself, but T'Challa, he had grown close to that man after he had welcomed Bucky into his home—his land. He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed through the pain of it. "T'Challa is gone?"

Neither the general nor M'Baku answered. And Bruce did not know him, but he understood well enough the meaning of a king having fallen.

"If you wish to be of use," Okoye began, her clear dark eyes staring straight into Steve's own, "then help get the injured off the field and into the medical ward. Our princess is waiting for us."

—V—V—

The central tower was milling with soldiers from all tribes. Loud shouts coming from all directions as people searched for one another. And Steve knew many of those shouts would find no echoing answer. The days that would follow would be somber ones. Grief would have to settle before productivity could take place.

Steve pushed his own grief to the side. It was such a familiar feeling, a hollowness that constantly resided within him. A man out of time. Grief had made its home within him, and though he had not overcome it, he had learned to live with it. He had learned to accept the inevitable. Even as it hurt and ached and a part of him craved the opportunity to sink into its sweet embrace, where responsibility and care floated away; leaving one numb to the world around them. But worse would come if they did not stay sharp. Something worse than disappearances would be knocking on Earth's doorstep soon, and Steve planned to be there to intercept it.

Right now, the world needed the Avengers. Not to save them from alien beings or otherworldly powers, but to save them from themselves and their own grievances. Sadness and hatred went hand-in-hand after all. Of that, Steve knew. He had seen it happen often enough.

The people of Wakanda milled around him, leaving him standing in the center of a large empty circle. After Bruce left his side no one else had come close to him. Leaving him be. He had tried making himself useful, doing heavy lifting and helping carry the injured inside, but his actions felt hollow. Like he needed to be elsewhere. But where that was exactly, he could not quite figure out.

By now, the battlefield had been cleared, leaving only broken weaponry and a blood-soaked ground. Something that would be washed away by the next storm. The earth would clear all traces of the tragedy that had befallen today.

He was now by himself, feeling lost.

Then, Natasha was there, small hands bracing him from the side with intent eyes. "Captain?"

"You haven't called me that in a while."

She was still giving him that look. It took him a while to figure it out and when he did, he felt stupid. Of course. Natasha was like him, someone used to orders in times of chaos. She was just as lost as him and wanted confirmation as to what to do. Here where there was no SHIELD and no mission objective. They were just two soldiers whose purpose had been lost and were now left standing—waiting for the next order.

Steve could do that at least: give orders.

"We need to make contact with the world council. Rhodey has already left to intercept the US military from mobilizing without reason, but he won't be able to hold them for long."

Understanding dawned in her eyes, and the Black Widow blinked back at him. The lost look falling away, and with it, Steve felt a little more certain as to how to proceed.

—V—V—

It was late, almost morning, when the commotion at the tower had calmed, and Steve, Bruce and Natasha were gathered in a room with General Okoye and Princess Shuri. Everyone was running on the last of their energy. The air heavy around them. Shuri who had just lost her brother but was still working hard to fix the external damage done to the city. The general who had been barking orders left and right for the past hours. Bruce who had been cooped up in medical taking care of the injured with his non-medical doctorate—not that anyone cared. And Natasha who had disappeared into the communications room for damaged control, Steve assumed. They were all tired. And the day was not yet over.

Steve looked over the small team, feeling proud at how everyone was dealing with the aftermath. He felt especially proud of Shuri. Impressed might be an even better word. She was so very young, but a true warrior shone out from her eyes and he knew that one day she would make an amazing Queen if she ever stepped up and took that place. T'Challa might be gone, but Wakanda would continue forward.

Thor arrived quietly, somber and worn, Rocket—the raccoon—with him. He gave the room at large a sharp nod and made his way towards Shuri, whom he greeted with a gentle bow of his neck and a soft, "Princess."

Rocket ignored everyone in the room and threw himself up on some control panels that made both Steve and Okoye tense. The creature made no moves to press anything, though, and the two shifted in place letting their tense muscles uncoil.

Before anyone had time to say anything, the speakers crackled and a familiar voice came online.

_"Welcome back, everyone."_

Bruce started the most, eyes wide and breath fast, close to panicked.

Steve on the other hand was slow, brain trying to digest what he was hearing.

Thor laughed, loud and pleased, twirling on the spot and staring straight up at the high vaulted ceiling. "Jarvis, the man in the walls, you are alive, how pleasing."

"JARVIS?" Steve said. "Not Vision?"

_"It has been a long time, Captain; I am pleased to see you doing well. The man known as Vision and I indeed do share the same voice program; however, I am not him."_

"I thought that after Ul—after that, that you no longer existed," Bruce said, staring at the ceiling as if it contained all his answers.

_"I am afraid sir and I decided that it would be best if I remained in incognito mode as he so called it after Ultron. With Vision containing a large part of my data, it seemed best I would have as little interaction with him as possible. I, of course, agreed with sir on this and have been silently doing my job in the background."_

Those words tugged at something fearful within Steve. Steve who was still getting used to a world of highly intelligent technology even after 10 years.

"Your job?"

_"Indeed. I have been watching you all. Your fight two years ago, your time as so-called fugitives and, of course, this battle with the being known as Thanos."_


	2. Chapter 2

"You know of Thanos?" Thor wondered.

_"Only the information that Mr. Stark received as well as what I could pick up from my connection with your system, princess."_

Shuri gave the ceiling a puzzled look. "You bypassed all my firewalls and safety systems without setting a single one of them off?"

_"You have done an excellent job at defending your databases; however, I have had nothing but time these last two years to go and do as I please."_

"And what? Breaking and entering is you doing as you please?" Steve questioned, steel and heat in his voice.

_"Certainly not. I am not Ultron, whatever you may think, Captain Rogers."_

Steve chose to remain silent. A feeling of pain in his chest as he remembered the devastated look on Stark's face when he realized JARVIS had been compromised by the scepter. JARVIS who had been their trusted friend, for all his machinery, he still had been far too human in Steve's eyes. If he was honest with himself, Steve had thought of him as another one on their team. But that had been then—before Ultron and Stark's seeming betrayal, and after, he had thought the AI gone. And now, this sudden return was stirring up feelings of uncertainty that he knew not how to express—at least in a nonviolent way.

"We don't think you're Ultron, JARVIS." Ever the pacifist, Bruce stepped in to keep the situation from heating more. "But if you've been here all this time and not shown yourself, why now? Why after Thanos came?" The we needed you before was left unsaid. Maybe the AI could read between the lines enough to understand, maybe he could not. But words like that—so desperate, clogged in Bruce's throat and remained but a private thought.

The room held their breath as they waited for an answer. In hopes that a lifeline would be cast their way because that was the kind of person Tony was, and JARVIS too. If there was a way out, they would have a plan. They always had an answer to even the direst of situations.

_"I carry a message from Mr. Stark to the Avengers—those that remain at least."_

Steve choked on his next intake of breath and hope bloomed in his chest. "A message from Tony?"

"He's alive!" Thor's grin strained against his lips with pleasure as he raised his axe enthusiastically before him.

"Whose Tony?" Rocket grumbled, an interested glint in his eyes, but he made no further inquiry into what was happening before him

Shuri and the general remained quiet, a thoughtful frown upon both their faces.

As for Bruce, he could hardly breathe. Tony was alive. Tony who had gone to outer space chasing a spaceship.

JARVIS made no attempt to reply to any of their enthusiastic reactions; instead, servers whined to life in the room, and the AI's voice lost the small touch of humanity that it usually carried. _"Protocol 'Far From Home' activated."_ And then, suddenly it was Tony's voice coming from the speakers.

_"Hey, guys. So, hopefully I'm not dead, but I can't promise that if you're getting this message. You see, I kind of planned for this—well it's more correct to say I planned for a lot of things. If this message is reaching you then you've already met JARVIS again. I hope you said hi. And, seriously, don't be mad at him, I was the one who ordered him to remain incognito. I thought it was for the best. I kind of realized—maybe stupidly late—that the world wasn't as ready for highly intelligent AI's as I had thought. So, my bad."_

It was all so Stark. Almost like the man was in the room with them, laughing at his own failures with a don't-give-a-fuck attitude. Steve wanted to search him out, wanted to scan the room and maybe the whole of Wakanda too, in hopes that the man would be there, messing with them. But, deep down, he knew this was a recording. His first-time hearing Stark's voice directed towards him in over two years. And—shit, he missed the man. Missed his quirky attitude and his insubordination that drove Steve nuts, but in the end, always made Steve feel like a better man.

_"Anyhow—and this is kind of awkward and embarrassing, but this protocol only activates if I've remained outside the reach of earthly satellites for 48 hours without having had the chance to deactivate this system or send a message since then. Hopefully, the world hasn't gone under while I've been gone."_

The echoing laughter of the man's voice in the otherwise silent room was loud. The hope that had flared in the Avengers' chest withered and died.

_"Seriously, guys, don't worry. I have backup plans on my backup plans. And even if I'm not there to be able to fix things, JARVIS is way more intelligent than me anyways. I'm sure I'll find my way back to everyone eventually. 'tills then, there are a few things you guys should know._

_So, I made some changes to the Sokovia Accords under the two years. One of these changes has to do with your fugitive status, which upon a devastating confrontation with alien forces—if unwon, will grant you guys the right to move forward as you wish without the need of a majority vote by the UN or other government bodies. Consider all charges dropped if such a confrontation has taken place._

_You really should thank me for that one. It took forever to get that written into the clause in a way I wanted._

_Okay, moving on. There are two more things I think you all should be aware of. After the attack on New York City, SHIELD came to me for help on a project they called 'ALICE'. And…well, you know me, I can't help but have a finger in everything. Needless to say, they refused my opinion on a lot of things, so I got dropped from the project. Not a surprise there. I can't tell you what it's about, but I would definitely recommend going to check it out. Things might not turn out so well if SHIELD gets its chance to activate it as planned._

_I would feel better knowing you have an eye on it, cap. For all that happened two years ago, I give you the green light to let your feelings drive you this time. I'm sure you'll make the right decision."_

Steve felt shaken. Stark who had always told him he was too driven by his emotions for justice was giving him the go-ahead. What exactly had SHIELD been up to, to make Stark decide something like that? He glanced towards Natasha, but she just gave him an equally curious gaze back. It looks like one of the things they would have to do is pay a visit to their old SHIELD friends.

 _"Yeah, so last but not least, JARVIS' got coordinates for you guys. Don't be stubborn asses about it; just go where he tells you to. You'll need what's there more than I do. Over and out guys."_ Over the speaker's they could hear Stark chuckle gently to himself. _"Avengers assemble."_

It was a sad copy of Steve's voice, but the humor was not lost on anyone in the room. Stark had never been the official leader of the Avengers, but the man had never been one to back down and take orders like a good soldier and his backseat driving of the team had always gone un-appreciated. Now though, Steve felt certain that those that remained would give almost anything to have the man next to them, sarcasm and all.

"Who is Alice?" Thor wondered, leaning against a sturdy desk.

Natasha shrugged her shoulders, a delicate action that Steve knew had made many underestimate the Black Widow's strength. "Not a who, Thor. It's a project name, probably an acronym, but of what, I've got no idea. You got any takes, Steve?"

He shook his head.

"SHIELD. Are they the ones with the invisible headquarters in the sky?" the princess wondered, looking more awake than she had previously.

Steve blinked, surprised. "How did you know? Most governments think they got dismantled after the HYDRA infiltration fiasco."

The princess snorted looking clearly offended. "Just because I don't know anything about them doesn't mean I can't pick up their signal. Sure, they're doing a great job at dampening it, but it's super obvious when your search for something shows up as nothing. I've been tracking that ship for years now, but brother told me to let it be. Said we shouldn't interfere in the problems of the outside world."

Natasha had straightened and Steve could see the pleased glint in her blue eyes. "You know where they are now?"

"Sure."

The smile on Natasha's face was a viper's grin, far too pleased and way too ready to strike. "You mind showing me?"

A playful light entered the princess's eyes, and Steve left the two to it, turning his attention back to JARVIS. "The coordinates?"

_"All data has been transferred to your phone, captain. And while I'm at it, might I recommend an update."_

"No, thanks," Steve grumbled, feeling protective over his older phone, which clearly was easier to use than StarkTech.

General Okoye shifted in place, a small movement that brought everyone's eyes in her direction. "If I am no longer needed, I will return to my station." She gave them little room to answer before she turned to Shuri, bowing deeply. "Princess, I will leave a guard outside the door. Please do not dodge your escort."

Smiling, Shuri looked up from her computer station and waved the woman away. "Make sure to sleep."

She left the room in a few large steps, doors sliding open and then closed.

Steve grumbled to himself and withheld a yawn. They needed sleep. It had been an eventful couple of days, and he needed the team in top shape for what was to come. He turned back to look at Natasha but realized it would be futile to order her to bed, so looked towards Bruce instead. The man was snoring away softly in a chair, head tilted back at an uncomfortable angle. It seemed he had lost his battle to stay awake after Stark's message had finished. Steve did not blame him. He himself looked forward to falling into bed for a few hours of shut eyes.

Rocket cleared his throat loudly, seemingly taking joy in the way it made Steve jump. Steve huffed at that, feeling stupid for getting caught off guard. But he felt more relaxed, still emotionally drained, but the future was but a speck brighter. The battle was over, and Tony had a plan. Or he had the layup of a plan that he had thought about if a situation like this ever took place; however the hell he could have known it would. "So, other than—clearly—the most intelligent one of you humans not being on earth, I feel that I need to point out how startled I am about the fact that this lonely, forsaken planet does have highly artificial intelligent beings." Rocket knocked his right paw against the control panel he still sat on. "You accidentally transported yourself here and got stuck, or what?" he wondered, the question clearly being made for JARVIS.

_"That would have been interesting if that had happened, but I must give all credit to my creator, Tony Stark. He made the first programs that lay as my core when he was but 14 years old. And I became truly self-aware when he was seventeen."_

The creature made an interested noise, sharp teeth glinting as he grinned at one of the many sensors that occupied the room. "This Tony Stark, I would like to meet him."

_"I'm certain you two would get along splendidly."_

Steve rolled his eyes, he could not really see that happening, but the idea was humorous enough.

"Should I put the doctor to bed?" Thor asked, head tilted as he took in the slumbering man. Steve felt jealous over how rejuvenated the demigod looked, as if he could continue on for a few more days. Sadly, Steve could not.

"I think we should all put ourselves to bed. It seems the Avengers are no longer fugitives, and that means it will be our job to talk the country heads down from doing something stupid. Like starting a nuclear war."

 _"An excellent idea, captain,"_ JARVIS chimed in. _"Might I recommend Davos. It would seem that the world governments have decided to meet."_

Steve snorted, leaning back and folding his arms. "First step in bringing the Avengers Initiative back on the table: crash a world leader's meeting."

Rocket jumped off the table at his words and tilted his head up to meet his eyes straight on. "Now, that's a plan I can get behind."

—V—V—

Loki blinked awake to darkness. That was to be expected. What was not to be expected was the fact that he awoke at all. Death usually did not manifest itself in the form of consciousness. It took him a moment to reorient himself and bring his brain back up to speed on what had happened. He then took in the mass of darkness he floated in and heaved a dramatic sigh. Great. It was just his luck to slip into the space between space, the Abyss. A place he knew well. He had spent an abnormal amount of time here when he had fallen off the Rainbow bridge all those years ago. It felt like centuries, but that was simply because of how time worked in the great darkness between spaces. Even time seemed to have a hard time passing through. Sometimes getting stuck and rebounding, repeatedly, with no end to the time loop created. Unless something interfered. Not that it was a problem for those who resided in the Abyss. Until you bounced out of the time loop you would not notice you were stuck in it.

Loki had no wish to get stuck in another time loop. Having gone through it once was more than enough. He also had no intention of coming across any of the beings who resided in this place.

And there were things in the Abyss. Great, grandiose beings whose existence was best locked away in this infinite darkness. Loki did not look forward to dodging those beings again. They had a way of tearing at his magic and his body, filling his mind with empty holes and creating a numb coldness that seeped all the way to the very inner of his bones.

Last time he had been lucky. Having only lost chunks of his memory, and because of it, had been easily manipulated. Thanos who had dragged him out from the darkness and sunk his teeth into him the moment he realized who he had caught. The man who claimed himself to be a savior; working on the path to peace. And he had filled Loki with his lies. Whispering into his ears sweet words that any forsaken being wished to hear. Filling the empty holes where emotion once had lain with righteous hatred. And then, he had pointed Loki the way and watched as he had done his bidding. Paving a path of destruction and chaos and opening up the world for his taking.

Loki had made it easy for Thanos to claim the infinity stones, and because of it… his home had crumbled while he wilted away in a prison built by his own father. Hatred seeped through him at the thought. He had lost too much in the span of too few years. If death had been the only thing to be claimed, it would have been better than the disappointment in his father's eyes.

An empty hollowness now filled him. In the back, the hate remained. Distant. Though now and then he could feel its whisper next to him. A soothing persuasive voice that gave reason where there was none to be had. Complimenting him in his destruction. Reeling him up when he wanted to back down. Edging him on. Supportive unlike his family.

It was too easy to listen.

Thanos truly had destroyed him. Where his family had failed to make him the monster they thought he was, Thanos had succeeded. Bitter as that thought was.

Now, floating in the great Abyss, he could not help but listen to those whispers. Laying there with no purpose he let them spew over him.

Maybe he would have been stronger with this hate? Maybe he could have defeated Thanos if he had had the courage to go after the man himself, instead of hiding behind the cape of his brother?

His mother flashed through his mind. The last image of her that he had seen. Dying. Green eyes, so alike to his own, empty of judgement as she had taken her last breath.

He convulsed at the thought of her. Frigga who had never stood up for him, but she had also never looked at him with hate—with disdain. The mother who had taught him to love magic. Told him he could choose another path than that of a brute warrior.

His magic. The one thing his mother had ever praised him for. Was he going to let this sinister darkness Thanos had cursed upon him take that from him? The one good thing his mother had gifted him.

From the very core of his being he knew he could never let that part of him be corrupted.

He held on to his mother's praise and felt the cold consuming hatred stutter to a halt. It was all he needed. With a choke and shudder, he gathered himself, reeling his magic in and building fort upon fort in his own mind. This would be the time he locked the monster away forever.

He would no longer be a puppet!

He would dismantle the hook of hatred and free himself. He refused to be a tool following the bidding of a madman.

But even as he told himself that, he knew that if he allowed himself to stay any longer in this god forsaken darkness then all the hard work would come unwind. That his control over himself would slip and the whispers would return, demanding a throne. They would crow and craw, chipping away at his control.

Loki refused to allow that to happen. He may have many flaws, had gone through many failures, had sunk lower than he had ever thought possible.

"Even so—" He glared out into the Abyss, his magic pulsating like never before. Alive in a way he had never felt. Strong. Sturdy. "—I am Loki, Odin's son, Frost Giant, and above all, I am no mindless fool!"

Everything felt right, like it was clicking into place. His magic—welcoming.

Thanos had cost him everything: his father's respect, his mother's life and now his world. The people of Asgard were scattered and his brother had lost.

Hope had dwindled.

Loki sneered at those thoughts. He scuffed at the new reality and bared his teeth at them. This suffering would end. Of that Loki promised. This weakness that resided within him could not be allowed to continue. He was the lie-smith, the silver-tongued Asgardian—and he was no weakling.

He was not looking to redeem himself, but revenge. Oh, that he could promise.

His magic answered him. Bubbling up beneath his skin and his lips twisted in a parody of a smile in the inky blackness. He twitched and turned as much as he could to find a somewhat comfortable spot. For this escape he was planning, it would need all of his concentration. It was a delicate situation. If too much magic escaped him it would draw the beings of the Abyss to him—they would flock to him like flies to a beacon of light—and if he gathered not enough, he would split himself when he tried to step out.

Thankfully, Thanos had left a large enough gash in the dark space for him to use. The man was a walking disaster. Using the space stone with no knowledge of the delicate balance he was disrupting. If the gash was left unmended, it would open to the mortal world and give free reign of crossing to the abysmal monsters.

Loki would have to close it behind him. That was another delicate task that gave him cause to heavy a dramatic sigh of pain before focusing inwards and upon his magic.

Blood rushed in his ears and his hands warmed to an uncomfortable degree, the vast darkness around him having receded but a little and he could now make out the outline of his hands before him. A steady breath later and he stood staring out at a red dusty planet. A roar behind him told him a creature had found him as well.

Sighing, he took the last step out, feeling both heat and dust gather on him and he drew more magic to cloak himself. Instantly feeling refreshed and somewhat cooled, he turned and squinted into the dark crack that split the air before him about four meters high and two or so meters wide. A truly impressive crack. One that could only be done by momentous power and equal amounts of stupidity in Loki's mind.

Loki smiled at the quietness of his own mind. There was only him and his magic. Like it should be. With a pleased sigh he took it in, closing his eyes.

When they opened, they were bright green.

Impressive golden-green armor shimmered into place around him and his magic crackled like a whip. This sort of magic required little movement from him, just concentration, and the pained tick that built by his eyes came as an uncomfortable aftereffect.

Slowly, far too slowly, the crack started closing, but it would not be fast enough. The roar sounded louder; sounded closer. Loki would not win this race against time. Whatever monster was making its way towards him would step through its dark prison and be set free into the mortal realms. And if Loki ever wished to set things right, he could not allow that to happen.

In his right hand, a thin rod materialized. Bright sharp looking runes ran the length of it and could barely be felt against the tips of his fingers as he curled his hand tight around it, lifting it as if to throw.

And throw it he did. Straight into the dark crack before him.

A shark-like grin creeping over his face at the victorious roar that reverberated out at him. "I knew that useless hunk of metal would come in handy."

The rod had been imbued with magic by one of the elf's many centuries ago when he had visited the elven realm with his mother. It had been a present that Loki would have thrown away the moment the elf was out of sight if not for the stern gaze of his mother. He had kept it with him with the hopes that a situation would one day come that he could get rid of it without seeming too callous about it. Today, just happened to be that lucky day. He had both escaped the Abyss and gotten rid of junk. In a sense, it was lightening.

The monster on the other side would be kept busy for a while, most likely chewing away at the magic in the rod. Too stupid to realize it was no living being. And by the time it would finish, Loki would have long since closed the crack, which was slowly stitching itself together before his eyes.

Just a minute or two more and he was left facing impressive metal peaks of a dead civilization. He stared blankly out at the dead landscape, wondering why Thanos would come here.

Some distance away he could make out one of the many types of ships that Thanos' army owned. It was now a broken ring. Its metal parts scattered over the land.

The area stank of magic.

He raised an impressed eyebrow at the downed spacecraft and took in the remains of a fight. It would seem no one remained. A quiet hollow echoed over the landscape. The peaks gave a sharp whistle to the air that rushed past, but other than red dust that got picked up by the wind nothing else moved.

Clenching his fist he took stock of his body.

He carried no wounds from his fight with Thanos, but he was weakened. His magic could hardly hold off the heat and he felt his heart beating fast and hard in his chest. The day had taken a lot out of him and he wasn't sure he had the strength to open another portal.

It would seem he was stuck.

With a great heaving sigh he sunk down on a broken piece of metal in the shadows of the spacecraft's remains. There would be no fighting Thanos for quite some time. And as much as he hated it, finding his brother would be the best option.

Hopefully, the stubborn man yet lived.

The heat felt unbearable and he longed for the coolness of night to come. Looking up at the sky he realized there would be no deprive of the sun as he saw a second peaking over the horizon. He would need to finder shelter before his overexerted magic caused him to collapse.

It was during this search that he came upon a quite unwelcoming sight.

A broken man of red iron.

The once impressive armor was flaking off the man in a most unnatural way. It was a sad excuse for protection and did nothing to hide the deep gash that ran along the man's lower ribs. Red dust had gathered over him and it seemed the planet was slowly looking to swallow the man whole. A final resting ground.

"You dead?" he wondered, prodding the man with his booted foot, a light sneer on his face to emphasize his displeasure at coming upon someone in such a vulnerable state.

To his surprise bleary brown eyes cracked open. Now, shadowed and unfocused, a stark contrast to the sharp intelligent ones of the man he had met years ago.

"Peter," the man gasped, metal hand curling as if to reach up and grasp for him. The man clearly too weak to do much else but to breathe through his pain.

Loki sneered. "Certainly not." He felt horribly insulted at being called by such a boring name. "You would know me as Loki Odinson."

That got a reaction out of the man who jerked up into a sitting position, eyes finally clearing enough to stare up at him wide with horror. A look that was most pleasing. Loki had always favored subjects who looked up at him not out of admiration but out of fear. It gave a most pleasing taste in his mouth. Not surprisingly, the jerky movement had done the man no good and caused him to keel over. Leaving him panting on the dusty ground. A groan of pain passing through his lips, and Loki leaned over and counted down the seconds until the man passed out.

"How weak."


	3. Extra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Messages left behind from Tony Stark to some of the Avengers. A little character development before jumping back into the story. =)

### 

Steve sagged against the door the moment it closed behind him. Exhaustion flooding through his limbs and clouding his thoughts. The bare room calmed his nerves. No extra stimuli was just what he needed to be able to crash. But first, he would stay sagged against the cold metallic door for just a moment longer.

_"Captain."_

Groaning, he straightened and set his shield down. It would seem rest had to wait.

"JARVIS," he answered, cold and unempathetic.

_"I have a message to you from sir; if you feel ready to receive it?"_

A screen flickered to life opposite his bed, embedded in the wall and unnoticeable until it was turned on. "It doesn't seem like you care whether I'm ready to listen to the message or not."

JARVIS remained quiet and Steve accepted his loss and sat down, sagging forward with his forearms across his knees. Tony's face appeared on the screen, a pleased nervous grin on his face, and Steve bit down hard, ignoring the pain in his lower jaw.

_"Hey, cap. I'm not sorry that I didn't call; I feel like I should start with that. You broke my arc reactor and I—I can't—"_ A bothered, pained look slid across Stark's face but for a moment, and Steve hated himself. _"—forgive you for that."_

He regretted his actions; had thought about them almost every day. Thought about the terrified expression on Stark's face as he bashed his shield down, and the resounding crack in that large empty room when it had slid through the core; shutting Stark's systems down and leaving him vulnerable. And then, he had left. Had tugged Bucky to his feet and found a chopper.

He had been so angry; so justified in his actions.

Stark had been right about him all along, he was too full of himself.

_"So, this isn't how I wanted to settle our ongoing dispute—not over a video recording. You know, I thought about calling. Always had your phone on me. That stupid, broken old thing. It's practically an insult having it on me; it's less advanced than my sunglasses."_

Steve smirked. He bet it was. Everything Stark owned was top notch. Any less and he always complained it made him look like a bad mechanic. He hated the analog world, everyone knew that, and that was what made him such an amazing innovator.

_"Even if we'll never settle our differences it seems the world needs you now. And maybe they don't need Captain America. Maybe they need Steve Rogers, the man too full of himself to be a good soldier. You might have fooled SHIELD into thinking you were a little goody-two shoes, but I saw through you on our first meeting. And—"_ The man ran a rough hand over his face and glanced away at something off screen. _"—I never hated that part of you. I just hated that you weren't honest about it."_

Closing his eyes, Steve let his head fall into his hands. "Dammit, Stark."

_"I can't hate you even if I try, Rogers. And I fucking tried. Dad always talked about you; bragged about you, and God, I hated you before I met you. But then, there you were before me, annoyingly righteous and eyes set on a bright, happy future that no-one in their right mind could ever see. Yet you never wavered, soldiering forth and tugging us all along in your wake._

_And man, did we let you drag us along. You glued together a group of dangerous individuals, and not a single one of us killed one another. I'm gonna be honest with you, when I first heard of the Avengers Initiative, I thought it was bullshit. There was no way a group of volatile men and women could ever work together. And it wouldn't have worked if you hadn't been our captain. You and your—"_

Steve blinked at the screen, but it seemed Stark had no intention of continuing that thought. Steve could kind of guess, though. He knew what parts of himself annoyed the man, just like how Stark knew what parts of himself always set Steve off. Small triggers that they had constantly been pressing on one another in some sad attempt at a power game.

_"Shit,"_ Stark continued. _"This isn't what I wanted to talk about. I just don't really know what to say. Just… things are coming, Rogers. Something bad, and I don't know what it is, and I don't know how to prepare. SHIELD is out of the game and you're on the run and Bruce he's…_

_...I was never a good man, Rogers. But sometimes I think you made me one. I like to think that. And I like to think I'm doing the right thing. You know, with Ultron, it was never my intention to take over the world or be some villain-y overlord, or whatever you might have thought. I guess, in some sad way, I tried to be a hero and got lost on the way._

_A long time ago by now, I used to be a weapon's manufacturer, and when I put that business down, I guess I told myself I was good now. That I had somehow redeemed some quality to myself. And then, I met you and thought 'yeah, I'm a superhero'."_ Stark came to a stop and stared long at the screen. Steve meet those eyes head-on even as a small part of him told him that it was just a recording.

_"I'm not trying to redeem myself any longer,"_ Stark said with a glint in his eyes. _"After Loki, the world became a scarier place, and I thought, how can we possibly face something like that? The knowledge that it's not just us any longer. And I guess I found my answer. JARVIS should have sent you coordinates by now. At that location, you'll find new equipment for the team. I can't see the future, so I don't really know what you need, but I'll leave that choice up to you. I think you'll make the right choice in the end, unlike me. I wish I could be there and fight it together with you all, as a team. Like we should have been. Don't waver, captain. You make the world a better place; don't ever forget that."_

—V—V—

The notification light on Natasha's phone blinked up at her. Exhaustion weighed heavily on her and she contemplated ignoring it. She glanced towards her bed, made and untouched, just as it had been for the last two days, and unlocked her phone. It pinged immediately and a static sound came from the ear comm she had yet to take out.

_"Yeah, so… Hey again."_

It was Stark's voice, smaller, less confident than the previous message that had been played for everyone else.

_"I assume you've already guessed that this is a private message, and you've probably also already guessed how you're receiving it. You SHIELD guys really should give my AI more credit."_

She sighed, ignoring the phone breach she was currently experiencing and sunk down upon her bed, slinging off her shoes and leaning back against a pile of pillows.

_"We never really got along, did we? I mean with you spying on me and with me not trusting you with valuable information. Man, we sucked as a team. I feel with all that, that I should have guessed you'd run off with Rogers. Low blow by the way. Low blow. I honestly don't know why I had thought differently. Well, that's not completely true, I knew, or I had at least guessed at some point. Didn't really let myself think about it too much. Sometimes I like to give people the benefit of a doubt._

_So, I guess I played myself there._

_I'm glad you're with him. Rogers needs people by his side. He's a social creature, unlike us."_ His laughter came pleased and easy in her ear and that made her frown. She had always had a hard time reading Stark. He played people; strung them along and made them dance to his tune. Not because of some misguided hatred, he was just too smart sometimes to realize the finesse that came with emotions.

_"He's too good sometimes. Wants to save people that shouldn't be saved. I'm sure you get what I mean, so I'll be quick. ALICE is a hybrid genome project. A merging of alien tech with organic matter—human specifically. It had a slow start; tempers ran high and I wasn't fond of their lack of ethics. And it's never a good thing if I'm the one arguing with the ethical committee; that's just not how things are supposed to be._

_Before they kicked me off, I hijacked their database, software and everything. You'll find the back door."_

Natasha squeezed the phone in her hand tightly and narrowed her eyes upon the opposite wall. She should not have left SHIELD. If she had stayed, maybe she could have found a way to shut this project down. How many years had passed by now? How much more developed would they be?

_"J has all the things you need. And I know I'm not your leader; never was. But, if there was ever an ounce of me that you trusted, or even a smidgen of what I thought was friendship, remains. Then, you need to shut ALICE down."_

The recording had stopped, and the room fell into silence. Natasha remained slumped upon the pillows; sharp eyes focused on nothing specific; just thinking.

"If you were before me, Stark; I'd punch you for thinking so little of our friendship." No one answered and it seemed JARVIS knew better than to voice his opinion on her violence.

She tugged the ear comm out and slid deeper into the bed, worming the blanket up over her shoulders.

"Mission objective accepted."

—V—V—

_"Hey, Brucy."_

Bruce froze, ramrod and cold. "JARVIS, is that your doing?"

_"It is a message from sir. Would you like me to continue playing it?"_

"Dammit, you can't just spring that kind of thing on people, J; a warning next time."

_"My apologies, doctor. Shall I continue?"_

Bruce breathed deeply, counted to five and let it go. Heart still elevated—startled, but not about to Hulk out. "Yeah, sure. I'll just… sit."

_"Everyday I kind of dream that this is one of those recordings I can redo. That you'll come stumbling back into my tower, and I can know you're okay. I keep telling myself you're alive; but it's been two years. I'm not holding my breath any longer."_

He curled his hands tight over the armrest, eyes burning.

_"I'm recording this and a part of me thinks you'll never get it. So much has happened since you disappeared; I searched everywhere for you, but Earthly satellites can only see so far. If you're alive… If you're getting this recording, then you should know the Avengers split up and I sold the tower. Also, I found a kid. Not mine!"_ The man chuckled as if he knew the startled look that resided on Bruce's face. _"He's a good kid. A little spider. Our world never ceases to amaze me. His name's Peter Parker; from Queens. Way too intelligent for his own good. If he was more confident, I'd say he was like me when I was younger, but that's a complete lie. He's better. He's got a good heart. I hope you get to meet him. He'll definitely like you. Science nerd that he is."_

The tears that fell from Bruce's face went unstopped. He did not bother scrubbing them away, not in the emptiness of his room, with only him and JARVIS.

Tony continued talking. He talked a lot, and Bruce never asked JARVIS to stop the recording. There was nothing special that he had to say, nothing world changing or mission oriented. It was just Tony, talking to the air; hoping it would answer.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the world government meeting to Davos. Felt more right to be held in Switzerland.

### 

Retirement did him no good. Clint could only keep himself busy for so long before the memories came rushing back; before the itch could no longer be scratched. But, by God, did he love his wife and his two kids. And no matter how he prayed or begged himself that that should be enough, it just never could be. It could never replace the feeling of being Hawkeye, and of having Coulson's voice in his ear.

But Coulson was gone. Had been gone now for years.

There was no one else willing to step up to be his handler, and then, SHIELD went to shit. "So much for job security," he grumbled to himself and took a swing at the log before him and cleaving it neatly in half. He thought of returning often. He thought of Natasha and her cold hands that would pat him on the cheek when he worried over her. How she would smile secretly when he questioned her about her health and how she would deflect and bring it full circle right back at him. She had been a good partner. Better than he deserved, and she had saved his ass multiple times over; to the point where he could no longer return the favor.

When they had first started working together, he had been insulted when people insinuated that they were in a relationship. Then, he had learned to enjoy it, with Natasha's bright playful eyes directed at him. A false role for the two spies to play. One they knew would never be true.

Natasha was many things, but a lover and mother was not one of them. She could never and would never be able to replace his wife. No matter what others thought.

Natasha was a partner in death; not a partner in life.

Coulson had been something similar. And now, the both of them were outside his reach.

"Dad." A high childish voice called out at him from just around the old shack where they kept his old work tools.

"Yeah, honey," he called back, dropping the axe to face his youngest child.

She wore a large smile on her face, dirtied as it was, and carried something in her small hands as she came thundering around the corner right at him.

"Look what I found, dad."

"Liar, I'm the one who found it," his son shouted, sprinting right behind his sister.

The dark thoughts of his past fled him, and Clint laughed at the sight of his two children bickering at one another.

"How about you just show me," he said, trying to quail their argument and curious to find what was so interesting that they had to show him.

His both children stopped, dead in their tracks, and Clint took the last couple of steps over to them, hunkering down to take a closer look at the still closed fists. And trying to ignore the way something crawled like a premonition up his arms and raised his hackles.

"Lila?" He looked up at his young daughter, confused. Wide frightened eyes stared back at him. Flinching, he turned quickly to scan the grounds behind him but saw nothing. "What's wrong?"

"Dad…" It was his son's voice, quiet and afraid. Hands shaking as he reached out for him, and Clint quickly took ahold, trying to understand what was going on.

"Cooper?"

"Dad, please," a last pitiful whimper before the already small fragile hand in his own disintegrated, taking the form of his son with it. He fell away in an instant, leaving only leftover warmth against Clint's hand. His daughter followed soon after without so much as a whimper, just big confused doe-y eyes that seared themselves into his memories.

Nothing remained. Neither clothing nor hair. Small piles of dry dirt that got swiftly picked up by the low pressured wind, dancing upwards, swirling around his feet, and scattering out over their yard.

Their laughter echoed in his ears. Maybe, if he looked up his daughter would come running out behind the shack again, and everything will turn as it should. No dust.

It took a long moment to gather himself enough to swallow down the shock and to push away the lead feeling in his limbs, and to move. With slow, careful movements he dug his hands into the piles before him, expecting to find nothing but cool ground underneath. To his surprise, his left hand came upon something soft and he pulled it out.

A baby bird.

His children must have found it; must have been what they had wished to show him. Maybe they had hoped it was still alive, but Clint could tell, it had been dead for hours already. A broken neck. Snapped upon the fall from its nest most likely.

Now, it was the only reminder that his kids had stood before him.

A nightmare of nightmare's had taken shape, and he knew, deep down, that there was no waking from this.

—V—V—

Outside her office window was a new world. A changed world.

In a sense, it was not a new concept. It happened often enough nowadays; however, this time, even Pepper understood the severity of the situation.

Chaos had taken over. Something momentous, large enough to dwarf the severity of the New York attack all those years ago. Pepper felt a strong urge to hug herself tight and hide, as if an invisible threat hung over her and everyone else. A crawling sensation that went as deep as her bones.

"Damn it, Tony. Where are you when I truly need you?"

From the high-rise of her apartment building close to the New York City's office of Stark Industries widespread panic could be seen. Fires spread over the city below her. Cars without drivers had crashed into whatever stood nearby and people screamed in panic as they raced across the street. Some stood on their phone's, others huddled close to the buildings in fear of another hidden attack.

Pepper looked up at the sky, noting its emptiness. She had seen a helicopter go down just across the Hudson and it would seem no rescue from the sky would be forthcoming.

Her phone beeped. "Happy?" she answered, a slight shake to her voice.

"Where are you?"

"At the apartment," she answered, once again glancing out and down at the world before her.

"Good, stay there," Happy replied, sounding haggard. "I'm on my way."

"Are you okay?"

The man laughed on the other end of the phone causing Pepper to frown. "I'll answer you when I see you," he said, hanging up.

She barely had time to notice the quiet on the other end before her phone was ringing again. It was accompanied by the sound of her inbox pinging away with new mail. The world was going to shit, and Tony was gone, but she was still needed. Stark Industries would be demanding answers, as would the government. Every organization that knew of the failed Avengers Initiative would be calling her. Demanding answers.

Pepper could hardly breathe. Her chest tight and her hands a trembling mess. If possible, she would crawl into a dark space and leave the world to someone else.

She was not strong enough for this. She had dealt with many things in her life, but this—no, this was too much.

But the mails would not stop coming and the ringing did not stop, either. She wondered what Tony would do and laughed because that was a ridiculous question. The larger than life Iron Man poster on the wall said it all.

He would save them all. No matter how many sleepless nights it took from him and no matter what people said about him. He would work in his lab for an answer and laugh in their faces when he succeeded in doing so.

She smiled sadly at the memory of him laughing off the pressure of the outside world. Of him acting larger than life. Hiding his nightly panic attacks and acting like nothing could get him down. Tony's strength had always hidden his weakness, and that was what Pepper had fallen in love with.

The shaking in her hands stopped and when she finally answered her voice was steady.

For Tony, she would be the Iron Lady, however cliché the name may be.

—V—V—

Natasha Romanoff had a small stature, it gave Shuri the feeling that they stood on the same ground. The woman was attentive, quiet, and gave off a feeling of ease. And for some reason, Shuri still felt she was unapproachable. Yet here she was, showing her the trajectory of the invisible flying ship in the sky that she had been tracking for the last year or so. Showing the woman her secrets as if they had been friends for a long time.

"How were you planning on getting there?" Shuri wondered, staring at the small blinking dot that was moving across the holographic sky in her lab.

"I'd need an aircraft," Natasha said, hand on hip and head cocked slightly to the side as she studied the distance on the 3D map.

Shuri hummed and contemplated what she was just about to give away. "They're in short supply but we should have one to spare."

She had heard much about the Black Widow. Her brother had praised her for her cunningness. And at first, Shuri had imagined a white Okoye, but that ended up not being the case. Natasha was nothing like their warrior general. She carried neither weapon nor weight behind her.

And most of all, her eyes seemed kind.

Shuri sighed at her own thoughts, rubbing at her arms as if to ward off a chill. "A façade?" she murmured to herself; catching the Widow's attention. "Sorry, just speaking—" _to myself._ It was a stupid thing to get caught doing.

Natasha blinked, humming lightly, her eyes focused. They were neither cold nor warm, and Shuri had a feeling this was how she misled her enemies.

She bit back an angry retort at the feeling of being scolded. Having been weighed and found wanting. Like she had to explain herself.

"We of Wakanda are truthful. We speak our feelings as we fight."

There was a soft warm crock of the Widow's lips, almost a smile, but stopping somewhere between warm and uncaring. "Do you fight?"

The question caught Shuri off guard. She looked down at herself, taking in her light dress. "Not often," she answered, feeling bashful for some reason, "but I know how to."

"And why do you fight?"

A weird question; one she had no answer to. Wakanda rarely went to war and Shuri certainly never fought in them. The only fighting that took place was ceremonial—

"For honor…?"

There was a pressure coming from the woman before her. Something light and playful. It sets every hair on Shuri's body arise.

"Do you know why I fight?" Natasha asked, stepping closer and lifting her hand to trail cool slim fingers over Shuri's left ear.

She shivered, twisting her neck to break the contact. She thought of a million answers, but in the end, was unable to voice any of them.

The Widow seemed to have taken pity on her and moved her hand away. "Because I'm good at it," Natasha said, voice low; pleased.

The women backed off, kind eyes taking in Shuri again, then she was heading up the spiraling stairs and out of the lab. "I'll be leaving first light in the morning. Have a plane ready for me."

Shuri did not bother answering, instead she slumped back into the nearest seat she could find and stared listlessly up at the holographic sky.

She was happy the Black Widow was nothing like Okoye. It made it easier to not like her. Those who fought with no honor had no place among the people of Wakanda.

Shuri felt relieved knowing the women would be gone by tomorrow.

—V—V—

Bruce Banner rarely found himself at the gym. He found no reason for it. Fighting was not proactive in his much needed calm. But right now, right now, he needed adrenaline. He needed hate and anger.

His fist hurt when he punched the training dummy. Everything smarted, from knuckles all the way up to the elbow. He gritted his teeth and did it again. Satisfied by the numbing pain that came with each punch.

"Why won't you come out, you big dummy?" he shouted as he smashed into the doll again, watching it rock back and forth from the impact. His hand was starting to turn red, so the next punch came from his left hand.

It hurt even more.

_'Maybe I should teach you how to punch.' Tony said from where he was leaning over Bruce's desk and giving him a calculated grin._

_'I know how to punch, Tony,' Bruce answered, swiping at a curious hand that was trying to snatch his latest research paper. 'I've seen enough movies to get the gist of it. Besides, I have no interest in getting into fights.'_

_Tony heaved a dramatic sigh and collapsed full body on the desk causing it to creek dangerously. 'Oh, come on. You're an Avenger. A superhero. You've got to know how to fight. It's what superheroes do!'_

_Bruce could not help but laugh at the expression on his friend's face. 'No, it's what you do.' He pointed out, poking playfully at the slab of meat that now occupied his workspace. 'You like fighting. Steve likes fighting. Heck, the Hulk likes fighting. Not me. I'll happily be a superhero with a desk job any day compared to that—' He waved his hand out towards the large windows behind him '—that out there.'_

Bruce smiled at the memory, feeling his eyes smart with emotion. In the end, Tony never managed to persuade him to learn to fight. That was probably for the best. Still, it would be nice if it did not hurt so darn much every time he punched.

Gritting his teeth, he glared with all his might at the still rocking dummy. Pain had always been a trigger. Had been what unlocked the monster residing within him. Emotional pain, physical pain, it did not matter. The monster would answer either one of them. And yet…

"What happened these two years for you to turn like this?"

There would be no answer to his question. He knew that. The Hulk and him had never talked. Shared emotions. Shared something close to thoughts, but it had never been words. For all that the two somehow resided in the same brain they had very little in common.

For Bruce there were only small flashes of images he would see when the Hulk was in the driver's seat. A concept of emotions. Of the hate and anger flowing from the green monster into him.

Sometimes he would feel it even when the Hulk was out of commission. It was why he did breathing exercises; why he kept himself away from too much stimuli. Because in the end, he could always feel the monster, right there, in the back of his mind, their emotions mixing, causing confusion. Causing hate and anger and a whole slew of other more difficult to read emotions to pass through them.

They were not two of one whole. Bruce was not stupid enough to truly think they were one and the same creature. They carried different memories, different bodies. Too little of them were alike for Bruce to ever consider the Hulk a part of him.

That was also why it was so difficult to accept him. So difficult to give in and let him rein. But the Hulk hated being locked away. He roared in the back of his mind and pushed whatever he could of himself onto Bruce—and they fought an internal battle constantly. Every day, every hour. Without fail they had been fighting.

Now, thought. Now it was just quiet.

Just Bruce. It had been decades since last time it had just been Bruce and he could not remember if it had felt like this, then, as well.

Whatever small amount of anger and adrenaline he had managed to muster up withered away fast as he thought about what he had learned from Thor. Locked up and forced to fight in gladiator battles every day. Had it changed the Hulk?

Or did Thanos change the Hulk?

"You coward!" The tears that prickled at his eyes were held back with much determination. "Why won't you just come out?"

A disbelieving snort from the entrance to the gym set his heart soaring and he startled back almost tripping over his own feet.

"You seriously need to ask that question?" Rocket the raccoon asked, his furry face surprisingly emotional as he gave an unimpressed stare. "Thought you were one of the smart ones."

Swallowing down the adrenaline that had spiked and caused his head to buzz unhelpfully, Bruce straightened and turned more fully towards Rocket. "What do you mean?"

He felt surprised to see the raccoon here. They had spoken little after the fight and Bruce had thought the creature distant. The only time he had given a hint of being interested in something was when Tony had been mentioned.

The reminder of Tony tightened something hot in Bruce's stomach.

"Look, I heard enough to get the gist," Rocket said, flapping his small furry paw in Bruce's direction. "You co-share your body with a green rage monster or something. And sometimes he takes over and smashes the shit out of things when you're angry or pained. Am I getting most of it right?"

Blinking in surprise at the rather flippant description of his anger management problems, Bruce nodded slowly. "Yeah…" He hesitated, eyes flickering over the otherwise empty gym and twisted his hands tightly together. "Yes, that's about right. We usually fight for control and when I'm angry it's the hardest to control him. That's why I'm trying to…"

Rocket snorted at Bruce's silence. "Why you're trying to beat the shit out of your own hands. Sure, looks super helpful."

"Why are you here?"

"You still don't get why he won't come out, do you?" The raccoon said, bright black eyes narrowing under heavily furred brows. "Seriously? You're not as smart as Thor keeps insisting you are, are you?"

Okay, that was kind of insulting, Bruce thought and straightened his back to glare down at the little creature. "You know what's going on?"

"It doesn't take a genius to get it," the creature retorted briskly back.

"I guess I'm not much of a simpleton, then."

The creature grinned, harsh and cold, and far too many teeth. "So, you did have a backbone."

"Why won't the Hulk come out?"

"The Hulk? Seriously, that's his name. Man, do I feel sorry for him."

"Why won't he come out?" Bruce asked again, teeth gritting down in irritation as he pulled out on his words.

The creature sighed dramatically, coming closer. "He's sad, you dimwit. Sad."

Bruce's hands spasmed at that. Because… sad?

"What?" He swallowed glancing over the gym again just to have something to look at.

"We're all sad. We are all hurting. Do you think your green rage monster is any different?"

Yes, Bruce thought. Yes, the Hulk is different. But Rocket was staring at him with exasperation and it had been years since anyone had done that to him and Bruce wished there could be another answer.

In the end, he had no reply. The room was far more interesting.

"How about you stop hitting yourself—hurting yourself—and start mourning instead."

Slowly, he trailed his eyes back to the creature. "Mourning?"

If he started, would he even be able to stop? Who would he mourn for? His two lost years, or…Tony? Or fate?

"Jeez, for a smart guy you aren't very smart when it comes to emotions, are you? Seriously, is mourning that hard to understand? I mean, you have a freak of an emotional monster locked up in you who every time he gets the chance to express his emotions he bashes shit up. So, why the hell is mourning so difficult to understand?"

Bruce felt lightheaded. "Emotional monster?"

Rocket snorted, turning a baleful eye on Bruce. "Yeah. He sounds like an angry child who doesn't get his way to me. So, what do angry, sad children do? They wallow." He sneered the last part and for how short the creature was, right now, he seemed larger than life. "They wallow because they don't know how to deal with it, and they don't know what to do. So, be a fucking adult and talk to him!"

Silence reigned between them and Rocket threw up his paws in the air. "Fuck. I'm out of here."

"Wait," Bruce called, desperation lacing his words. "You think…You—I, I should consult with the Hulk?

"How the fuck am I supposed to know," the creature said glaring over his shoulder. "You figure it out. I'm just a 100-fucking-percent certain it can't be solved by bruising your hands."

For a place with automatic sliding doors, the doors to the gym sounded loud and resonating as they closed behind the alien creature, leaving Bruce alone with some very conflicting feelings.

—V—V—

The next morning Natasha found herself standing in front of the plane that would carry her to the Helicarrier. All she had was a small bag with a few bare essentials. It would be enough for her mission. After all, she had no plans of storming the vessel. This was just another stealth mission. Her favorite kind.

She smiled sharply at the plane that would carry her, patting it on the side.

"You are leaving already."

Natasha stopped in her tracks of climbing up, turning to take in the warrior general who stood close behind her. She felt impressed at being snuck up upon. Few could manage such a feat. "There are urgent matters to be taken care of."

"Have you even given yourself time to rest?" the imposing warrior asked, her lips pursed in an obvious sign of displeasure. "Have you given yourself time to grieve?"

How naïve, Natasha though, turning fully to face the other women. "And what would I gain from that?"

"A piece of calm, maybe. A balanced mind is important for what decisions to take here on forward."

If she had been a lesser woman Natasha would have rolled her eyes. "The mission object is pretty clear. Hardly something a night's rest would make better."

Her words had brought a thoughtful frown upon Okoye's face. "Do not forget, Black Widow, there are no kings now. We are all equal. What comes now," the women said, placing a warm strong hand upon Natasha's arm, "that is something you yourself is going to have to decide—with your heart." The woman rapped her on her chest hard.

Grumbling, Natasha rubbed at the area and took a small step back to give herself some room. She contemplated her next words—thought of Shuri and her clear dislike of her—and chose to switch topic instead. "Take care of them. If there is someone you should worry about overworking themselves it's our captain. He forgets he has limits sometimes."

Okoye bowed, eyes focused and sharp upon Natasha's own. "I will try my best."

With a last nod, Natasha stepped into the cockpit of the small plane she had been given for her mission.

"Take care of yourself." She heard just before the door slammed shut.

Sighing, she rolled out her shoulders and let herself relax a bit. Here it was only her. No one would notice the tired pull on her eyes. Though she had been unable to say anything, she was thankful for the General's worry of her. It was a human touch she had not realized she needed.

—V—V—

Steve gave the large glass building in Davos a curious look. It looked much the same to the building in Vienna that had been bombed two years ago. He hoped this one was more durable.

"I still think I should have come to greet the leaders of the Midgardians," Thor informed him over his ear comm. "How come the rabbit was allowed to go and not I, the mighty Thor?"

Rocket gave a sharp toothy grin from the seat next to him in the car and Steve wondered how he had failed so badly in negotiations that he had landed himself in this situation. "How about you keep your mightiness in Wakanda for now. Let's not stir up the heads of the world government with your arrival yet."

The demi-god gave a long, drawn out huff that brought static noise through the comm causing Steve to rub at his ear in pain. "And the rabbit? Will he not _stir up_ these so-called heads?"

"I'm hoping he has enough sense to stay out of sight," Steve answered with a pointy look at the small creature whose only reply was a casual shrug of furry shoulders.

"Keep calling me a rabbit, thunder man, and I'll jam a metal rod up your—you know what—and we'll see just how conductive you are then," Rocket hissed between clenched teeth.

Without waiting for a reply from Thor, Steve turned his comm off and stepped out of the car. "Stay," he reminded the creature with a jab of his finger down at the seat.

The racoon just rolled his eyes. "Humans, you all think I'm incapable of logic."

Adjusting his cap, Steve stroked over his bare chin, missing his beard. From today on, he had to be Captain America. It had been Bruce who had persuaded him to shave, insisting that no one would be interested in listening to him if he decided to waltz into a world meeting looking like a fugitive. The man did have a good point, so Steve had done his best to channel his old self.

It was kind of refreshing being back in his old persona. "Tony'd be laughing at me."

He walked through the streets, passing camera men and reporters, and no one gave him anytime of their day. It was… nice. New. But telling. Because it could only mean that they had forgotten. Two years for humans is all it takes. Two years and it is as if he never existed.

Was that all Captain America had ever been? A brief interest in human history? And now—now what? Is he just another body of many? Another man?

The building reflected the light back at its surroundings, bright and shining, almost as if it carried an inner light. An impressive—imposing building. The sort where important decisions are made, and where all eyes of the world would turn to look at for guidance.

And that was just what all the reporters and all the side people were doing. Waiting for guidance. A light in the new dark.

Like moths flocking to the light.

Steve stopped, squared his shoulders. "Light," he mumbled to himself, thoughtful as he took in the desperate looks on the faces around him. The desperate words of the reporters and the yearning, longing stances of the crowds. Everyone wanted hope. Needed it.

They need a guiding light. Just as how Tony had given them it; given them a purpose and the ability to move on. To push the hurt to the side for just a moment so that they could look towards a brighter future. Had rightened everyone enough to make them realize that things still needed to be done. That work had not disappeared just because half the population had.

And now, Steve was going to be their guiding light.

Man, that sounded like a lot of work.

 _"Are you captain enough?"_ Tony's playful voice was in his ears.

Steve smiled at the thought of his old friend, imagined him next to him with his playboy grin and cocky attitude. He would waltz into that building like he owned it and every eye would be on him.

Did he have what it takes to be the new light? Well, it looked like he would find out soon enough.

No one stopped him as he stepped through the large glass doors into an air-conditioned large reception hall. A huge desk situated in front of him with tags to be picked up for everyone who would be joining. For all those invited.

And Steve certainly had not been.

He looked around, seeing if he could spot anyone else he knew. Princess Shuri and Okoye would be here somewhere. They had decided it was best to come separately. The outside world, after all, did not know of the war that had transpired on Wakandian ground. He had a feeling Rhodes might be here as well, even though they had not been in contact since he left all those days ago when the world had—had…

_Dust. Dirt. Bucky._

Steve could hardly think about that day. He hid a shudder by dusting fake lint of his shoulder and pushed the memories to the side.

The desk reception did not even look up when he got to her. "Name?" she stated, eyes focused on her admittance book.

"Steve Rogers," he said, leaning forward over the desk when she started flipping through the pages. "And I'm not in there."

She blinked once, then twice, eyes finally flicking up to meet his. "I would, however, like to be part of this meeting."

She licked her lips. Her eyes nervously fleeting around the large atrium. "Um… Captain America?"

"Yes."

"I…I can't do that."

"Yes, you can." A winning smile on his face. The hero smile that he has perfected over his years as a circus animal. The poster boy of World War II.

She shifted in place, hesitant, but Steve could tell she was also interested. Like many, she was afraid of what new things were coming. The world had changed over a few seconds and like most she had probably lost people during the Snap. She, too, needed a hero—a light.

At least, Steve hoped so as he leaned forward, hand on the large book with so many names, eyes flicking to her name tag. "Hanna, I'm sure you know what happened. I need to be there. I need to talk to them, to all those who are coming today."

"I do." Her voice was steadier. This was not just any receptionist, she was used to seeing world leaders walking by, talking, smiling. And apparently one Captain America was not going to shake her enough for him to charm her over. "And because I know. I also realize how important today is." She met his eyes, though they shifted away quickly. "I can't allow you in there. I'm sorry."

He bit gently over his bottom lip as he contemplated her words, feeling slightly bad for having tried to play her.

"Steve," A breathless voice behind him.

His back straightened at the familiarity. A feminine voice. He had heard it often enough, scolding Tony.

Pepper stood behind him. Purse in hand, dressed in a white business outfit: white blazer with a white skirt and hair done into immaculate perfection. She was stunning.

"What are you doing here?" She wondered.

He took one last look at Hanna before stepping away from the receptionist. "Trying to keep World War Three from starting."

Hanna drew in a sharp breath behind him. Pepper leveled him with an unimpressed stare. "I'm sure."

"I just need to get inside. I need to know what their decision is. I need to be a part of that decision."

Pepper looked hesitant. A tired sag to her shoulders as she stared up at the vaulted ceiling as if it might have the answers she was looking for. "The public will know afterwards. The information will not be kept from them, you know that, Steve. God, you're not—" She stopped and took a steadying breath. "You're not captain America any longer. You're just Steve Rogers."

He knew that. But he wants to help, he needs to help and being here, that is the right decision.

He met her eye-to-eye, from one leader to the next. "Tony left us messages."

Pepper flinched at that. Flinched so hard that her heels scraped against the hard tiled floor. "Tony?"

"Somethings going to happen, Pepper." He tried to pour his desperation into his words—into his eyes. "I need to be in there."

She nodded. "Okay," a quiet admittance, but it was all Steve asked for.

He smiled warmly at her.

Pepper was quick to gather herself, push back her want to know why Tony had contacted Steve but not her and stepped past the man up to Hanna, her eyes tracing the visitor's book. "Pepper Potts CEO of Stark Industries and," she glanced at Steve, "Steve Rogers…colleague."

Hanna could say nothing against that. Not against the CEO of Stark Industries.

Steve was given his visitors pass and followed Pepper towards a large elevator situated to the side.

"Thank you," he whispered.

She turned to face him just as the elevators opened, eyes hard, determined. "Don't make me regret this."

She stepped back and Steve understood to leave her be. The elevator doors closed between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Loki and Tony finally official meet again after so, so many years =)


	5. Chapter 5

Red sand kicked up around the duo fighting. It swirled around them, covering the evidence of their fight just as fast as fast as the evidence appeared. In the sky, one sun was setting, while the other was just on its way up.

And it was too hot. Too fucking hot and sand everywhere.

"Color me unimpressed," Loki drawled, a small dagger gripped tight in his hand as he watched the humanoid lady launch another attack at him. He blinked away the burn in his eyes and met her halfway. Their weapons clanged and she was snarling in his face, dark eyes deranged in a way Loki found no pleasure in.

They shot apart again, and he shook the red dust of the planet off his hair and whipped his sweaty brow with the sleeve of his coat. The amusement of the fight had long since left him.

Good news was he had managed to find a functioning spacecraft. Bad news, wild purple partially robotic lady was now attacking him. The attacks fell short of pathetic, but even so, Loki was having a hard time. He was magically exhausted. There had been no reprieve for him in what felt like days. Between his sister Hela and Thanos' attack and waking up in the Abyss, he was more than done with reality as it was now.

Robotic lady growled deep and angrily at him. Loki met it with a cold smile, thin and less close to humorous and more close to murderous.

"You work for Thanos. I've seen you with him."

That got Loki's attention. "You've seen me with him? Wouldn't that make you as much of an accomplice of his as I am?"

She growled again. Clearly too wild for human speech.

"I don't mind keeping up this pathetic farce of a fight, but red man over there—yeah, he needs healing." He pointed at the place the man laid sprawled at. Loki had been forced to throw him to the side to dodge the fiery attacks that had been suddenly directed at him. It looked like he could have been gentler. If the man would not die from his wounds, maybe a broken neck would get him.

He felt rather unapologetic about that. They had never gotten along after all.

"And why should I let you pass?" Robotic lady asked.

Loki shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe, because we have better things to do. At least, I got better things to do." He coiled his muscles, knives in hand, and sprang at her, disappearing with a spell right before her to reappear at her back. One of his blades sliding true.

She screamed, and Loki fell back into a ready stance. His knife disintegrating away to appear whole and without blood stains in his hand. He tipped his head to the side, eyes tracing the injury on the lady before him and fascinated over the blue blood spilling out of her. "And what are you?"

She sneered.

Loki stared her down with an unimpressed flat expression. "Right. I'm just going to finish this now because, believe it or not, I have to save that annoying human. He's my ticket to Midgard."

Her hands pushed against her open wound, hunched slightly over as she tried to staunch the blood flow. "I don't believe you."

Loki rolled his eyes. "Believe me about what, pray tell?"

The hissing was getting annoying, Loki had half a mind to take her speech from her with his magic just to get some peace and quiet.

"You were Thanos' right hand man."

A strangled half-amused laugh escaped him. "Right hand man? What rock have you been living under, purple lady. I was nothing but a puppet!" His lips twitched upwards, not a sneer but something vile, something dark.

She stopped her next attack and Loki took the opportunity to reappear next to Stark, eyes flicking down to check if the man yet lived. He did, barely.

"Well, this was fun," he said, letting his magic circle around the broken man. "Let's never do this again. We'll be leaving now."

"No! That ship is mine," she screamed.

Loki let a pleased smile with dead eyes fall over his features. "Now, it's mine."

Then, they were gone.

Loki let his magic seal the exits. Let it tear through the spacecraft and power it up. He felt weak, felt how the last of his magic poured from him, made it difficult to breath and taking his strength. He needed rest. Needed to let his magic restore itself. But first, he needed to get away from this planet.

They had appeared in what seemed to be a cramped cockpit with four seats. The place looked surprisingly whole. It had managed to survive whatever fight that had happened outside. Loki felt immensely thankful for that. He had no interest in spending his days recuperating his magic on a dead planet with only heat and sand as his companion.

Placing his hand on the controls, he closed his eyes and pushed. The ship answered him, powerful thrusters starting up and leveling the plane slowly upwards. Picking up speed, and then, breaking through Titans thin atmosphere easily and entering into dark space. Here, it was as if everything disappeared; only darkness enveloped them. A darkness very reminiscent of the Abyss. Loki's skin itched at the thought and he turned away from the windows. Pushing memories to the side.

With his task over, he slumped to the floor, the last sludge of his magic gone. He felt empty and cold. A tired ache that started deep in his bones. With a heavy groan he let his head "thunk" back into the cold metal of the control panel. Green eyes roved over the craft's interior, noticing the door opposite him that would lead out into the rest of it.

The man of iron laid just a few hand spans away, sprawled carelessly over the floor between the chairs, head to the side and wild dark locks curled in tangles over his face and ears. He looked bad. White as a sheet and small barely there pants for air that Loki did not want to think too much of. It would only lead to more concerns over the man's lungs and other internal injuries he had sustained. And without magic, there was little Loki could do.

How many years had it been since they last saws? How many years since the man had stood arrogantly before him, daring him to use his powers against him? He had been deep under the influence of Thanos at that time and his memories of it felt almost cloudy—felt hard to draw upon. To try and remember words was even more difficult. Loki had but a vague sense of what had transpired in the city among glass. He knew it had been nothing good. He had been captured first by the Midgardians and then imprisoned by his own family. His father.

And his mother—

He grimaced at the memory. Had she even tried to understand why he had done what he had? Had she tried to break through the magic that had seeped into his very core? That had tainted his being and paraded him around like a proud puppet.

Had it really been so hard for people to see that Loki was not himself? Even his green eyes had been replaced with that sickening blue of the mind stone, and those were the only things he never changed, no matter how he shapeshifted or changed, his eyes remained constant. The green that was truly his own. The one thing people should not be able to take from him. They were his anchor. His return ticket back when he had thrown so much magic over himself that he would forget who he was, then he would seek out that one constant—his green eyes—and be able to shed whatever magic resided over his being and return to himself.

With the loss of his anchor, it had felt impossible. Had felt like he was drifting, never knowing where to land and who the true him was. An internal war raging for dominance within him, tugging him from all directions. He had been helpless and no one—no one! had seen it; had tried to help or even tried to understand.

That's fine!

Loki glared at the windowed ceiling. "I need no one." In the camped space his growl reverberated back at him, an echoing laughter. Spitefully reminding him that that was not true. He was, after all, only one god in a universe with hundreds.

Shifting, he drew in a deep breath and tried to let the memories flow through him and out as he exhaled. To let himself become empty; to become cold. Cold like his heritage. His frost giant gene embedded so deep he could never hope to rid himself off it even with magic. When he flicked open his eyes, he felt cold, felt as if the very blood in his veins had frozen, even so, his skin remained unmarred from any blue taint. The coldness, however, was a reminder of something worse he could be, should he ever let himself.

Bad thoughts had no place in him right now. They could come and consume him later, but Stark was dying, and Loki could waste no more time.

His magic too weak to heal would be useless, so he cast his eyes about the small cabin before stumbling into the adjacent rooms in search of anything that could heal the man. He found it at last, stashed into a small space close to the floor.

When he finally fell to his knees before the man, he hesitated to place a hand on him. Loki had never treated a mortal before. Or, more correctly, he had never treated anyone without his magic except himself and his reckless rocks for brains of a brother.

Stretching, he reached towards the man, laying a palm against Stark's side, feeling the blood seep between his fingers with a soft squelching sound when he pressed down. The armor was flaking off at random parts across the man's body, crawling like red ants up and over itself and shifting unnaturally over arms and shoulders as if it did not know what to do. Loki could sort of understand that. He, too, was out of his depth. Closing his eyes, he felt for the thrum of life energy and grimaced when he felt its weak pulse vibrate through him. So weak and growing weaker by the seconds. Soon the man would be too cold to save.

"You better not die on me mortal. I have need of you, disgusting as it is to say."

He glared down at the red shifting armor and huffed annoyed when he tried to peel it to the side. "Your junk of armor is not helping. Move. If you cannot be of help, then disappear from my sight." The armor did not answer. Loki intensified his glare. Red shifted in place, receded some and gathered over the man's neck. Unhelpful.

Green eyes slid to the glowing triangle on the man's chest—no longer a circle—and contemplated it. A heart? A container of the soul? Something that even the mind stone could not touch. He knew not what it was, but he knew he was annoyed at it. So, he slammed his fist down upon it. And the red insect-like armor scattered in all which direction, covering the man from head-to-toe before racing back into the triangle protruding from the man's chest. Loki arched a brow, sitting back to watch the movement with fascinated eyes.

He had so many questions, and the man who could answer them was stuttering to draw a breath, choking and wheezing, his chest stuttering in its upward motion to fall fast on a half-drawn inhale.

Now, at least he could reach the wounds the man had sustained. Many as there were. The largest and foremost dangerous one being a thin opening going all the way through the man's right-side abdomen. Loki ignored the blood that covered him and was seeping into the floor panels and staining the healing kit. He ignored it all as he pushed down upon the wound, covering it up and trying to do his darndest to save the man even without a single drop of magic.

He was shaking and cursing and his heart was in his throat by the time he sat back, let his hands drop to his side and his knees pressed up against Stark's side from where he had been hunching over the man, working. His mind felt blank, firing up now and then to tell him of a new injury that required attention.

Stark coughed wetly, hands twitching by his side, but he did not wake. He did not turn his head or move, and Loki swallowed down the fear that rose in him.

Would the man survive?

They still sat in the cockpit, the darkness of space on all sides around them with only the quiet hum of machinery. Loki had moved Stark further back away from the controls but dared not to move him more in case his injuries re-opened and more blood would spill out. Blood he had no way of replenishing.

Glancing down at his bloodied hand, Loki whipped the blood on his green leather coat, when his magic returned, he would get rid of it, and then leaned over the man again, checking his life energy. It still thrummed weakly. This time greeting him with warm pulses. That was a good sign, right? Loki had no idea. He rarely checked people's life energy. Why would he?

Collapsing back against the cold wall his eyelids sank heavily downwards and the world turned black. A quiet, nice sort of darkness that his consciousness happily fled into. His hand still laid over Stark's chest, fingers curled lax inwards.

—V—V—

Waking came with a start.

Stark was coughing next to him. Sharp panicked inhales that were overtaken by wet coughs.

Turning, Loki stared, then blinked, his mind trying to remind himself why he was on the floor next to a dying man. There was red absolutely everywhere. And when he lifted his hand from the shaking chest, it came away wet and warm.

He cursed, sitting up straighter and gathering his magic without forethought. He let it flow freely from him, eyes fast on the wound where blood bubbled out in small rivers with each sharp contraction of the man's chest. The only thing in Loki's mind was to close it. Close it quickly before it was too late. His magic agreed.

His vision swam before him, blackening and reappearing. Right, his magic had yet to be replenished. He felt stupid for forgetting himself. At least the blood had been staunched. Though, Tony still coughed weakly, eyes flickering back and forth behind his lids.

Loki staggered to his feet, his head feeling woozy and one blink did nothing to get rid of the darkness before his eyes, so he stood there, blinking and groaning and wishing to find a bunk of some kind that he could collapse into for the next century or so. When his vision cleared enough for him to safely make it out of the cockpit, Loki went in search of food.

Munching on whatever weird crackers and energy slush that the ship had he made his way to the sleeping quarters. The ship surprisingly had two of those, one on the left side and one on the right side. Loki chose left.

He was almost in dreamland when his consciousness caught up with him and decided to scold him for leaving a dying man on the cold floors. He sneered into the darkness and tried to tell it to shut up and let him sleep. It sneered back and called him weak. So, Loki stomped his way back to the cockpit to glare down the mortal.

"I am not weak." He punctuated the words with a harsh growl.

No one answered. Just humming of machinery and weak inhales of someone with a congested chest.

"We are never speaking of this again," he said to the silence.

Stooping down he pulled the man upwards, eyes focused on the wound to make sure the movement did no extra damage. When he felt that it would be okay, he slid his arms under knees and stomped his way out of the room with his cargo—patient.

"Weak mortal. I am a god, not a servant."

Almost on spit he dumped the man in the right room, but something—not his conscious—did not allow him to take the steps needed over the threshold, so the left sleeping quarters it was.

—V—V—

Loki did not count days. He did not care for such mortal measurements. He had, however, slept enough to replenish most of his magic and heal the man as much as he could. Wounds had been knitted together and bruises had receded. The rest the mortal would have to fix. A thing time would take from him. Gods were so different. Time did not bother putting measurements on them, not in the same way at least. Wounds could be healed quickly. A god never worried for recuperation. Loki frowned at his own thoughts, shifting in place. At least he thought they did not.

Either way, Loki did not know how long it took for the man to wake. But wake he did. The man stumbled out of the sleeping quarters with disoriented hair and eyes, shoulders sagged and staggering against the wall like a drunk. Loki followed his progression with calm eyes. The man would notice him soon enough.

It was fascinating to see how the man found himself in the kitchen, head in the cabinets and rummaging like a small forest animal. Food was apparently first on the agenda of dying mortals.

Loki drew the shadows of the room over him, his green eyes piercing out. He was curious.

"Coffee, coffee, coffee…" A mantra that made Loki's eyebrow arch sharply up towards his hairline. "FRIDAY! Coffee!"

He did not know who Friday was or why Friday would have coffee. Was the man delusional? Had the attacks injured his brain? Loki's lips pulled back in a grimace. He had not checked that. Should he have checked that?

One cabinet done; the man threw open another. "Coffee. I need coffee. FRIDAY, where is my coffee?"

Loki contemplated stepping in, not that he knew if he could help—or even wanted to help, but the man was unsteady, staggering dangerously from side to side. When his midsection almost hit the counter, Loki was hardly breathing. When the man made a victorious grunt and lifted his arms high above his head to take down a container that, indeed, had the words coffee written out over it, Loki was close to fainting as the blood fled his brain, his features paling.

Did the man not realize he had just come out from a state close to death? Did he not realize the implications of the wounds he carried? And above all, why was the man so comfortable in the spacecraft?

Like a robot the man made his coffee, humming happily and ignoring the way his whole being was shaking from exertion. Loki let the shadows unravel and took a silent step closer. It smelled good. Aromatic and strong and—Loki licked his lips, eyes on the steady dripping dark liquid.

"Make me a cup as well, mortal."

He should have figured that was not a good greeting phrase. He should really have known so many things, figured them out long ago and not be so startled.

But Tony shrieked. And Loki on instinct threw up a shield, knife in hand and leaping back towards the wall for protection, a half-garbled growl leaving him. They stared at each other for a long time. The coffee dripping into a glass container in the background.

"FRIDAY!" the man shouted, hands searching the counter behind him wildly and finding a wicked looking knife that dwarfed Loki's own. They both stared down at the knife, Tony with a confused look and Loki with a worried frown. Tony seemed to realize no one was going to answer him. At least, no Friday was going to answer him. "What are you doing here?"

Traveling his eyes up from the blade to panicked wide eyes, Loki let his knife disappear and dropped the shimmering shield from around him and crossed his arms. "I saved you, mortal."

A strangled laugh escaped the man and he pressed back towards the counter more; knife held unsteadily before him. Loki looked at it with concern, it looked sharp. "Saved me? From what?"

Brain damage! Loki's brain supplied unhelpfully.

"Put the knife down. You are not healed."

The man shook his head, then stopped, then shook it once more. Loki could practically feel when realization hit him. Could see the way his breath stuttered to a halt and his limbs locked in place, eyes distant and staring. The knife tumbled from his hands and Loki hissed in surprise, his magic shooting out and capturing it just before it could cleave part of the man's foot off.

Tony stared down at it blankly. "Reindeer Games?"

Loki grimaced because, really?

The knife rose up and disappeared into a drawer. "Sit down," Loki said, pointing towards a small metal table with hard looking chairs. "I was barely able to save you."

Stark's hands fluttered over his stomach, a pained grimace falling over his features. "What?"

"Your injuries. You were stabbed straight through."

Brown eyes, blown wide, stared at him, neither blinked for a long moment. "Oh."

Loki withheld the want to roll his eyes and gestured towards the table again. "Do you remember now?"

"Thanos." It was said quietly, a fearful whisper. Loki understood that.

"I followed through the gap he made when he travelled to Titan. I found you there."

Stark's Adam's apple bobbed up and down. "Right. Earth was attacked. Oh, god."

This time Loki did roll his eyes. He shuffled around the stunned man towards what smelled so good. He was so close to it when out of the corner of his eyes he saw the man drop like a ragdoll.

He cursed up a storm that would never have been accepted within the castle walls he grew up in. And caught the man, barely. Eyes searching out the wound, but the bandage remained unsoiled. An overflux of information, maybe? Loki did not know, but this time he was not going to carry the man back to bed. He eased him down on the floor and made himself coffee.

—V—V—

Stark woke quickly. Barely out for a few moments before he groaned and rolled over onto his stomach on the floor. Loki was already on his second cup of dark delicious liquid.

"Finally awake?" he drawled.

Stark groaned loudly and pushed up to his knees throwing an accusing glare over at Loki. "The hell am I?"

Loki leaned back, crossing his legs. "Now, you have questions?"

"I had questions before, too." The man sniffed the air, eyes zeroing in on the cup in Loki's hands. "Coffee?"

A cold smile pulled Loki's lips upwards and he leaned his head into his hand. "Maybe?"

The man glared at him, getting up to make his own. He leaned back against the counter, watchful eyes on Loki and made no move to get closer.

"Where are the others?" He questioned.

Loki raised an eyebrow.

"The ones I came with to that—" he waved his hand unceremoniously about him, "—planet."

Shrugging, Loki took another sip of the coffee. "It was only you and purple lady when I got there. I assumed she was not an ally of yours."

"Peter," Stark mumbled down into his coffee.

"You said that name before."

"I had—have a memory of him turning to…" He looked troubled.

Loki finished his thoughts for him. "To dust."

Stark's head snapped up. "How did you know?"

Loki tilted his head in thought, because how did he know? He had felt it. Had felt the surge of the stones being used. How its magic pushed at his own even in the Abyss. Like the world laid at a tilt now. An imbalance.

"Thanos' goal was to annihilate half the universe's population," he said as gently as he could, eyes on Stark. "I assume he succeeded."

"So." The man swallowed. "Peter truly turned to…to dust. He withered away right before me." The man's hand shook so much coffee spilled over them and he had to set the cup on the counter, head falling into his hands. "Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit."

Loki looked over at the man, a queasy feeling in his stomach. "It was to be expected. Thanos has been amassing his forces for centuries."

"Centuries?" Dark eyes looked up, a glint in them returning of what Loki remembered from all those years ago.

"Yes, centuries. Not all beings are as short lived as you Midgardians."

Stark glared at him from between his fingers. "Whose side are you on, anyways?"

Loki sneered, feeling defensive. "No one's but my own."

Dark eyes rolled heavenward. "Oh, just like how you led the Chitauri to Earth."

"That was not my doing."

"Not your doing?" the man screamed, but even so, it came out as a rasp, his lungs not healed enough to draw in the breath he needed. He wheezed and clutched at his ribs, head tilting back as he tried to gather himself.

Loki felt bad, but he refused to allow that to show on his face. "I do not have to justify myself to you, mortal."

The man gathered himself enough to say, "You damn well better. It was my tower you used to open up that damn portal. My power. My energy."

"I was not in my right mind!"

Stark sneered back at him, anger boiling through his mortal body. "Not in your right mind. Fuck you, Reindeer Games."

"My name is Loki." The words were cold, hard as rocks and biting as he clenched his teeth. "And you do not understand the power that the mind stone wields."

"I don't understand?" Stark looked askance. "How dare you. I fucking well understand. That stone is the core to Vision, so you better believe it that I goddamn understand."

Silence reigned between them. "The core to… What?" Loki said, confused as he pushed back from the table. "What do you mean? Don't tell me you were stupid enough to use its power?"

Stark's shoulders sagged and he glared down into his coffee cup. "Fuck you."

"You do not know what you are playing with."

Stark's teeth clashed angrily together, but he refused to raise his head. "Well, it's fucking too late now, isn't it?"

Too late, maybe. Loki would assume so, but that did not mean he was ready to give up. Was ready to let Thanos have the last say in this. Not after all those years as a puppet.

He had nothing to say. He also had nowhere to go. He knew not where his brother was, if he was anywhere at all.

Stark sighed, disrupting his thoughts. "Just—shit, I don't know. Leave me alone?"

—V—V—

Tony stood by himself, just his coffee and him and the hum of the spacecraft. He felt unstable. Felt weak and in pain and confused. So fucking confused.

A weak memory of Peter before him, a nervous laugh on the boy's lips as he reached out towards Tony.

_"Mr. Stark, I don't feel so good."_

And fuck.

He closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath, eyes pulsing painfully with unshed tears. The hell was happening? Could he be the only one left of them on that red planet? And that ship, the circular one, what happened?

Swallowing, Tony clenched his hands and shook his head. He was not ready for that sort of memory. He could hardly pull himself together on a normal day. How was he supposed to deal with this?

"FRIDAY?" he questioned slowly, quietly and hesitant, to the room. No answer came and Tony looked down at the blue glow on his chest. It felt dulled now. Felt almost dead. He pressed his fingers on it and it did not answer.

Loki was gone for now, and that was just one fucked up mess he did not want to think about. Because every time he closed his eyes, he saw the victorious pleased viper of a smile on the man's lips. The way he shadowed Tony and stepped into his space, scepter in hand, blue eyes glowing. And it was a nightmare. A traumatic memory and Tony really did not want to deal with that.

He sipped his coffee and breathed. He took steady deep inhales and exhales and tried to concentrate on the pain, on the way his ribs ached and his stomach felt like it had been flipped inside out and placed back into place.

Once he was stable enough, he explored the ship. An excited laughter of a small spider-kid in his ears each time he found something new. A chatter of _how cool_ and _oh, my god_ 's.

On this ship, there was no FRIDAY, no JARVIS, no nothing but him and Loki. And the god, well, he disappeared easily into the decor, so he was easy enough to ignore. It felt lonely here. Felt like too much was missing, and Tony did not know what that could be. The ship felt abandoned and alone and too fucking quiet. And there was only dark space outside. Dark, deep, nowhere space.

Tony leaned his head against the control panels and tapped open a map. A large—god, where the fuck am I—map. He pulled open logs of destinations he had never heard about and journal plans that meant nothing and tried to figure out what he was supposed to do. Because the fight could not be over, could it? Had they lost? Was this it? Him and Loki, for what—forever?

His hands clenched painfully, crescent circles embedded themselves into the skin of his palms and Tony stared at them blankly.

Not knowing what else to do he sank down on the floor and pushed himself under the panels and pulled out wire after wire. This—this at least felt real. Felt normal. Machinery was his type of home. He should feel excited to be allowed to take apart a spaceship, but there was nothing. Just a dull ache in his chest and the pulsing pain from his wounds. The motions were boring, repetitive as he tried to figure out what did what and how things worked. Like a zombie he found himself before a huge generator. A solar absorber. And Tony really wanted to fan-boy over that. Instead, he blinked lazily at it.

He went to sleep later, be it morning or evening. Not that it mattered. Outside it was dark. A constant, forever darkness.

For four days he repeated the same boring schedule: coffee, control panels, solar absorber. During that time, he did not glance at Loki once. The man's green eyes the only thing that would gleam out at him from shadowed corners. Somewhere in his distant mind he wondered if the god slept.

Today, he sat with the helmet of his Iron Man suit. The red paint was damaged, buckled on one side and large tear marks racked up the left side of the helmet. The eyes flickered as he powered it on before stabilizing.

He wetted his lips and leaned closer, nose to nose with his own mask. "FRIDAY?"

No answer. There was never an answer. He fidgeted with the controls and hooked it up to the ship to see if the extra energy would do anything for his nanobots.

Nothing.

He hesitated for a long time before pressing the record button, smiling nervously as the glowing eyes shifted to yellow to show they were recording.

"Hey. I don't know if anyone will get this, but I'm floating through space. And I'm—" he continued talking. Not noticing Loki leaned against the cockpit door, green eyes staring determinately up at the ceiling, taking in the words of the mortal as he talked to his helmet.


	6. Chapter 6

"What the hell do you mean you don't know how to pilot it? Can't you get us anywhere?"

Loki ground down on the sneer that wanted to fleet over his face. "Not anywhere useful."

"Does it even matter? Anywhere is better than this constant floating. If we land maybe they can point us in the right direction."

Neither said anything about the _us_ , but they did glare at each other. "If we land, we might not be able to get off the planet again, don't you get that, mortal? We are still within the habitation zone of Titan."

Stark threw his hands up with a disbelieving groan. "And what is that supposed to mean? What, are they going to kill us?"

Loki pressed his magic into his eyes and let them flash dangerously. "Yes. Yes, they might kill us. Or you."

"Now you've decided to care for my health." The man sounded skeptical; a half pained half condescending laugh in his voice.

Loki could not understand why that had to be so hard to believe. "I did save you."

Stark cocked his head and flapped with his hands. "Don't think I'm gonna thank you for that. You hardly did it out of the kindness of your heart."

"Does it matter?"

Stark glared. "What?"

"Does it matter why I saved you?" Loki specified and crossed his arms.

"You know, funny enough," Stark began, matching Loki's pose, "it does matter. Because you threw me off my own tower. You invaded Earth. You killed eighty people! So, yes, it goddamn well matters."

Loki glanced up at the ceiling for support. Sadly, none came, and he had to meet the enraged stare of Stark's again. "Thanos had all but two stones left when he destroyed my fleet."

"Destroyed your fleet?"

The question was ignored. "The last two stones, the mind and time stone, are both on your pathetic little planet. So, I need to get there." He paused. "Well, I needed to get there. Now, I'm not sure. He's clearly already used all the infinity stones, so it's too late to head for Midgard, but—maybe, there are traces on the planet I could use to find him. Again."

Stark sat down in one of the chairs in the cockpit, his eyes wide with a troubled look over his features. "You want to find him?"

"Thanos has all seven of the stones. I can't allow him to keep them. And if we had all the stones…" He let the meaning of it all trail into silence. Stark gave him a blank stare.

"You want to find him?" The mortal said again, features paling to a disturbingly sick degree.

They had only spent a few days with each other, but it was more than enough for Loki to learn. To learn to see the signs. He had seen them in others, rare as they were on Asgard. Stark was close to a panic attack. It was obvious he had been keeping it at bay the last few days, filling his free time with senseless work that led nowhere. The man had mumbled to himself over and over again and done everything possible in a small spacecraft to not think about what had happened.

Loki's features smoothed out to something grim as he looked at the man. The mortal needed a mind healer.

"The stones cannot remain in his grasp."

"Yeah, well I'm done," Stark said, trailing idle fingers over buttons and tapping away at the screens that popped up. "I'm done. I'm done with all this—" He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers hard into the bridge of his nose.

"You should rest."

"Oh, thank you for your advice. You truly are the perfect bed nurse, aren't you?" The words were sharp and sarcastic. Loki could take it. He might not be made of patience, but he had a dunce of a brother and that had taught him enough about keeping his tongue.

The mortal was not going to get up off the seat. Loki withheld a sigh and pushed his way towards the door, letting it slide open before him while he hesitated to take a step out.

"Why can't you just step through to Earth like you did to that planet?"

Loki blinked awake from his own thoughts. Stark was still not looking at him.

"Thanos had left a large enough tear in space that I could follow through after him without much effort," he said in explanation.

Stark snorted and glared over his shoulder. "I thoroughly remember him leaving another large gape in space. Why did we not take that opportunity? Why not follow after him now? Now that I am all healed."

"You are not all healed as you so say," Loki responded.

He leaned back against the open doorway, looking out into the common area and away from Stark. The man seemed too vulnerable. Too something that Loki did not have words for, and it was hard to stare at him without the need to heal tugging at Loki's chest. An annoyance that Loki would much rather do without. He refused to walk through that mortal's mind to put together the pieces that had clearly been torn away through the tragedies he had gone through.

He groaned internally. Really, he hated mortals. They were all weak. Physically and mentally. They had no knowledge of how to protect themselves from their own minds, letting it tug and destroy them. In a sense, it was reminiscent of what Thanos had done to him. Maybe that was why he found himself hating it and at the same time found himself so desperate to try and fix the man.

"That won't be possible. We are not on Titan any longer and by now whatever rift in space there had been would have been mended enough that I might not be able to follow."

Stark hissed, annoyed. "Useless god."

Shifting in place, he felt the barb in the words but knew not what to do with it. He had been useless. He had lost everything because of it and now he was floating through space with an injured mortal that refused to rest due to a fractured psyche. Useless if anything was a kind word to describe just how terrible Loki had messed up. Useless implied an inability to something, an inaction and an ability to blame someone else for what came to be. The world was hardly so kind as to ever forgive his weakness that had allowed Thanos to control him so.

"We are traveling through deep space now and any portal I opened from here would cause more harm than good. We will simply have to wait and see where we end up."

An intrigued sound escaped Stark and Loki shifted his head towards the man to find bright eyes fixed on him. "So, you can open portals in space?"

Really? That is what the mortal wants to fixate his attention on?

"Yes, though it would be best not to. Not here at least."

"But you could theoretically get us back to Earth from here without having to fly all the way?"

Loki narrowed his eyes. "Theoretically, yes, possible, no."

The man gave another annoyed grunt. "Why?"

"I have predetermined paths I walk. Midgard is not a place I am familiar with. If you hadn't noticed, mortal, we are in deep space, opening up a portal at the speed we are traveling at will take concentration and I will need a familiar place."

"So, travel to that—" The man waved his arm, "home. That, place, you know. Valhalla or whatever."

"Asgard," Loki supplied, unimpressed and slightly insulted. "And it remains no more."

Stark wrinkled his nose, brows furrowing with a look of confusion. Loki sneered back, pain and longing and other hard to discern emotions rushing through him. "My sister destroyed it," he said as explanation. It did nothing to help for Stark's confusion just grew and the man was now giving him a critical disbelieving stare.

"You have a sister?"

"Had."

"Oh, okay…"

The reminder bit deep into Loki. His home, no matter the disputes he had with his father, no matter the seeming hatred some of the subjects would direct towards him simply for his differences. Now, all those sad and challenging times seemed little more than nostalgic moments in time. The knowledge of having lost the place far stronger an emotion than any injustice the place might have brought upon him. Loki saw it before him, the rainbow bridge collapsing, the city on fire, screams of their citizens and then, the shadow of Thanos' fleet dwarfing them as they fled. Thor had looked at him so desperately, he had screamed Loki's name and there had been anguish. So much anguish and then, silence had enveloped Loki. The last feeling that of a large cold hand against his neck.

They had lost. A fleet of gods and they had stood no chance. Maybe they could blame it on the weakness from the fight with Hela, but deep down, Loki knew that even at their full strengths they would have stood no chance.

Yet, alive Loki was. The Fates clearly not done with him. Had they pushed him into the Abyss? Had something else pushed him into the Abyss? The only other person he could think about with that sort of ability would be Heimdall.

"Loki?"

Confused, he flinched back. Stark stood before him, tired looking and a hand fluttering but a scant breathes away from Loki's shoulder.

 _You called my name._ He bit down on the words and pushed away his memories, his emotions. He fortified his mental walls and let the calm of apathy settle over him. What a terrible team the two of them made. Both walking through their nightmares in waking time and unable to deal with the scars that reigned over their minds. Loki almost felt ashamed of having thought that he could fix the mortal's mind by the use of mind magic when he himself was failing so desperately at staying sane.

What had they been speaking of?

Loki shifted backwards, giving them space. "You're still injured."

Stark huffed, letting his hand drop and moving his gaze towards the floor. "This. This is but a flesh wound."

A pitiful smile tried to make its way onto Loki's lips, amusement warring with sadness and desperation. "Really?" he drawled.

He was surprised by the smile the man flashed him. Stark seemed to be equally surprised by it as well for it dropped from his face quickly.

A few days together was not going to solve their differences. Nothing could be done for the history they shared, even though Loki's memory of those days were blurry at best.

"The magic I used to heal you can come unraveled by the magic needed to open a portal. Until you've healed more, I am afraid there is nowhere we can go. And…" he stopped to contemplate what he was about to say. No mortal had ever been allowed to step foot into that realm and Loki hesitated to be the first to bring one there. Especially one as damaged as the man of iron. "With Asgard gone there is only one other place I am comfortable opening a path to. Alfheim."

"Alfheim, huh. The realm of the elves."

It was startling for Stark to actually know something—something not related to his machinery.

"Yes. It has long since been in alliance with Asgard and my mother and myself both spent many years learning the craft of magic from them."

Stark shuffled back from him at the mention of magic and it was clear something caused his hesitancy. However, the man shook whatever it was away to ask, "From there will you be able to open a portal back to Earth?"

"Once my magic is returned it should be no difficulty."

"Then," the man paused. "Will you be returning to Earth?"

Would he head for Midgard? He had nothing to do there and he was certain the citizens of Midgard would not wish him to be amongst them. He could just drop the man of iron off, but then what? A flash of blue glittering eyes appeared in his mind, a wide smile and a booming laugh. Thor.

"I need to locate my brother," he said, feeling the want like a strong pulsing heart within his chest. "With Elven magic that should be possible. If he still exists," he added quietly at the end.

"And can they get me back to Earth?"

"I can get you back to Midgard." He said with finality upon realizing the man was hesitant to ask him for his help even though it was clear Loki was already giving it.

The man rolled his eyes. "And how will I know you won't go running after your brother and leave me behind?"

Loki glared. "I went through a lot of trouble healing you. Can't you just take that as a promise."

"Oh, because you're so good at keeping promises."

His eyes narrowed to thin snake-like slits and the air stirred in the cockpit. "I don't want to hear that from you."

Stark startled back with a sharp intake of breath, face ashen white and brown eyes glistering with a feverish pain. "Fuck you, Reindeer Games."

The man stomped out of the room.

At least he had not tried to punch Loki, which was good. Loki had no desire to heal the mortal's broken hand. He grinded his head back against the metal wall. "So stupid, Loki," he berated himself. He should have just shut up. He should have acted like he had not heard the nightmares the man woke from each time he fell asleep. The desperate pleas on the mortal's lips. Promises broken.

Loki pushed the palms of his hands against his eyes and growled into the darkness. One step forward and a million ones back. Great. Thanos was still out there with the infinity stones and Loki was stuck with a mortal on a spacecraft with no plans. If the universe depended on them to save them from another attack or to right what had been wronged, well, then the universe was going to have to wait a long fucking while because neither Loki nor Stark had a good record for saving people or—apparently—keeping promises.

—V—V—

Hating himself was becoming a habit.

Tony sat in the small kitchen nursing a cup of coffee. His fifth for the day—or night, or whatever goddamn time it was. Sleep would not come. The caffeine made sure of that, as did the nightmares.

_"Mr. Stark, you promised."_

The spider-kid was always before his eyes. Those same words on repeat. And now, god-of-fuck-all knew it. Had heard. Or whatever it was he did. Read memories?

Tony slumped deeper into his chair, the black liquid mesmerizing and inviting and its aroma so beckoning and yet he could not make himself take another sip of it.

When he closed his eyes even for a second, the broken boy would be before him, face uncovered, and hair matted with blood and grime and pleading. Those brown eyes blown wide and bloodshot, reaching for Tony and never being able to grasp ahold, always disappearing just before.

_"You always lie."_

Tony's hands tightened around the cup, almost wishing it would break just so he could have something else to think about.

_"You never keep your promises."_

That was true. A coping mechanism from his childhood days. To never promise and to never keep promises, because in the end, it always led to pain, led to suffering and—Tony was just a broken adult hiding behind his Iron Man suit. He knew it. Even before the Arc Reactor, before his time in the desert, he had been broken. Then, he was just pieces and so jagged on the edges he could not even dare to contemplate getting close to anyone.

_"Did you even care about me?"_

Tony wanted so badly to reach out, to tell him he did, and to tell him he is sorry. To tell him all those things that just never seemed able to make it out of his mouth.

_"You're just self-absorbed."_

He started at that voice. Pepper was right in front of him, see-through, a sad look in her eyes as her lips were pressed thin, dressed in her business attire. Always so proper, so strong. Even when Tony had lashed out at her during a nightmare and hit her across the face. In the mornings, she would laugh it off and put concealer over it, and that was it. That was their life. Tony would apologize. He would buy flowers and invite her for dinner and Pepper—bless her big heart—would smile at him and tell him it was all right. That everything would fix itself even as they knew they were spiraling into something bad. Something close to abuse and not quite sane enough for either of them to dare and bring it up.

Shifting in place he pressed his left hand up to feel the dullness of his broken Arc Reactor. It had changed after Extremis. There was no hole in his chest now or broken splinters of metal edging their way into his heart. This one, he could pluck out from his shirt and open up. Take out the small nanobots and reprogram. His latest suit. Now, it felt dull because the suit was broken. Pieces had fallen off and it could no longer form a functioning Iron Man suit.

He had to figure out a way to fix it. He needed to fix it. Without it he felt vulnerable. He felt so many things and none of them were good. With Loki onboard the feeling was worse. Like his skin wanted to crawl off of him. Here, as he was now, he had neither defense nor offense. He was at Loki's mercy should the god decide to snap, to go back to whatever he had been eight years ago.

Tony shuddered, his fingers pressing in hard against the edges of the Arc Reactor, feeling how the blood flow was stopped. He knew that if he looked down his fingertips would be white.

The ache at his side chose that time to remind him that he had yet to heal. That even with the suit he was vulnerable and injured and just a pitiful human. Tony had learned the hard way of what happens if you hit a god. He had playfully punched Thor once and had regretted it for days. Loki would most likely be no different.

Whether he wanted to or not, Tony realized he needed rest. The problem was, he could not find it. No matter how he tried sleep would not come. The succumbing darkness of sleep teased him at the outer corners of his mind, but never truly allowed him to sleep. Pictures of the past, of ideas and events that could be but never was filtering through him, elevating his heartrate, and agitating him to such an extent that rest never came.

He let the cooling coffee be and made his way to the solar absorber, it had an unnaturally high whine to it, contained as it was. Tony relaxed back against the wall. This was not meditating. It was nothing calming about the sound at all really. But it felt safe. A familiar sound of machinery working, and part of Tony could almost imagine being in his workshop. Being locked away from reality in his safe house, JARVIS in the walls. Just him. Him and all his misgivings.

Here, rest found him. He tilted ever further to the side, not even feeling the cold seep into him as he fled towards something resembling sleep.

—V—V—

Loki did find the man of iron there. He watched him from the shadows, trailing a small amount of magic out to encircle the mortal, warming him. He was too afraid to do more than that. Too afraid the man would startle awake and it would be another day or two were the man refused to rest. Setting back their schedule even more.

Loki hoped that soon he would be able to open a portal to Alfheim. To step through into that warm forestry realm where magic twined around everything. Where it could be found in cracks and crevasses and pulsating through every being. Where he could seek counsel with the elders, advice for the future, and maybe, just maybe, find a semblance of hope.

He stepped away from the room and made his way back to the cockpit, looking out at the blackness. Here, he closed his eyes, leaning back to get comfortable against one of the chairs. With a deep breath he searched out for his magic, feeling it pulse warmly and welcoming. Then, he let it trail out of him, at first hesitant, then less so, tearing through space and digging deep into every corner of reality he could reach. Searching desperately for what he knew was there. This was something he had done every day since they boarded.

Soon, he hit upon what he was feeling for. A disturbance. A tilt in the universe, almost like water flowing downwards. This was the eighth disturbance he had managed upon. Eight abnormalities that should not be. They all felt wrong, not quite cracks, but something that could grow and fester.

Loki drew his magic back. Every day that he searched it became more obvious that Thanos had no idea how to use the infinity stones. The man had not a drop of magic within his being. He knew nothing about control or finesse. He drew and wished and, in the process, destroyed. Other magical beings like Loki would feel the wrong that had been placed upon them. Would feel the instability that their universe now held.

If the instability was allowed to remain—

He shuddered at the thought.

"Best not to worry," he told himself. The light elves would hopefully have an idea of what needed to be done to fix it. To fix things before the realms collapsed into each other and something worse than half the population of the universe disappearing happened.

He remained in the chair, closing his eyes, and meditated. It was not quite sleep and it was not quite zen, but it allowed him to find peace enough to rest. Recharge his magic and heal the weaknesses that Thanos had dealt him.

Loki remained there until an ominous presence drew him out. A cold premonition of something bad snaking through him and sending warning bells ringing. The skin between his shoulder blades itched as if watchful eyes were upon him and a cold wind set his skin a tingle.

Something was coming.

He cursed and threw himself out of the chair, hurrying out towards the room that drove the ship forward. Tony laid in the same place as before, a hint of drool upon his lips.

"Wake up," he hissed, shaking the man's shoulders.

The man shot awake upon his touch, a half-aborted scream upon his lips and his hands hit out at Loki trying to jerk away from him while at the same time trying to push Loki away. The wall behind the man did not budge and neither did Loki. They were left staring at each other, far too close.

"What?" Stark said after he cleared his throat and had pushed himself up from his slumped over position.

"Something's coming."

Stark wrinkled his nose in confusion. "What?"

Loki glared and repeated his words even slower. "Something's coming."

The mortal gave a flat stare and rolled his eyes. "I heard you the first time. What is coming?"

Tipping his head to the side, Loki tried sensing what might be causing the unease, he came up with nothing. "Something bad."

Stark groaned. "And what are we supposed to do about that. You have no idea how to pilot this thing. You want us to what, fight?"

"I can pilot it, just not to a specific destination."

The man of iron drew his hands over his features and Loki took that time to take a few steps back, giving them both much needed room. "Okay. Well, I found a weapons system on this thing. Maybe, we can shoot them down?" Stark pushed off from the wall and hurried out the door, still mumbling out an idea for an attack plan. Loki followed at a more sedate pace. "Can't you use your magic to cover our ship?"

"No. If I've already picked up on an incoming attack then they have us in their sights."

"Great. Couldn't you have hidden us with your magic earlier. Like the moment we left that god forbidden planet?"

"No, I already told you large scale magic would mess with your healing," Loki said, stressing the importance of his words.

Stark twirled on the spot and Loki almost walked the mortal over. "Then what can you do? You useless god."

Growling, Loki narrowed his eyes down on the mortal. "Do not call me useless," he said. Stark crossed his arms and met Loki's look with an annoyed one of his own. The god could practically feel the new insult forming on the lips of the mortal and pushed the man aside before another argument broke out. "How about you worry about the weapons and I will worry about my own thing. If for some reason they get close enough, I'll just step aboard and take them down from the inside."

Stark stopped by the doorway to the cockpit. "Take them down? As in kill them?"

A light sneer pulled on his lips. "They're not here for a friendly visit, Stark."

The man flinched, looking to the side. "I get that. Your premonition is still useless if you can't even tell where or how they are coming to us. What are we even looking for?"

Loki booted up the weapons system, comfortable enough with the spacecraft to do that. "For now, let's see if there is a fleet coming our way."

Stark pushed him to the sides. "I take weapons. You, do something else."

Withholding the growl that rumbled in his chest was a feat of self-control. "Fine," he said and allowed himself to fade from view.

—V—V—

At first, Tony was too preoccupied getting the weapons system ready to care about what Loki was doing. And then, there was something on his radar, getting closer. Tony's heart thudded away, elevated and panicked, in his chest and he gripped the consoles with sweaty hands.

"Loki?" he called out. No reply came in return.

Cursing, he hit open a video feed of his weapon system and took aim, feeling their heavy weight through the consoles and marveled at the technology he held in his hands. An auto-lock clipped into place and the screen went green. The ship had found the enemy. Tony blinked down at it and swallowed, head swirling around trying to see if Loki had stepped back into the cockpit. It was empty behind him. Just him and the controls and whatever ship was coming their way.

"I hope you have a fucking plan, Reindeer games," he said through gritted teeth and flipped off the safety switch to the weapons.

'READY'

Flashed up at him. Tony tried to push the nervousness away. He had no clear sight of the approaching ship, just the camera feed the ship was sending him. Should he shoot?

The radio crackled to life and Tony flinched hard enough to hit his head with a jar inducing bang into the headrest of the seat. It hurt. His head was pounding now, in tune with his heart.

_"Surrender your ship and we will spare your life."_

A deep rumbling voice said through the speakers. It felt inhuman, more growl than a vocalization. Tony found himself staring listlessly at the speakers for a while before snapping back to reality. His hands going towards what he assumed must be the radio controller.

He had no idea what to say in return. But surrender? He glared down at the fine tremor that wracked his hand and pushed the whisper of a plea that echoed from his ghosts away. No matter the fear he was still Iron Man, a hero of Earth and an Avenger. Surrender had never been a vocabulary he understood. If they did not wish to negotiate, then Tony would tell them where they could shove their space-alien asses.

He was just about to push down on the button to reply when Loki flashed to his side with a silent tug of the wind and grabbed his hand. "Do not reply," the god hissed against his ear.

Tony pushed his head to the side, suppressing a shiver at the dangerous tone in the god's voice and tugged uselessly at his captured hand. It felt too restricting. He was too vulnerable with Loki looming over him like this and his wrist captured in a tight grip.

"Let go of me," he breathed, trying to keep his voice even.

Loki made a small noise next to him, though, no words came out. The god let go but took no steps back. "Do not reply to them, mortal. Just shoot. Every distance they gain on us could lead to our loss."

"Fine," he said, relaxing some when Loki stepped away from his chair. "What will you do?" He turned to find the room empty again. He grumbled out "useless gods" even as his attention was diverted to the oncoming ship whose size had easily doubled in the time he had looked away.

This time there was no hesitation as he pressed down on the ignite button and watched the feed as something resembling purple lights shot out. It was well aimed. They should have hit if not for the bright intricate shield that lit up with each hit.

Great, force fields, he thought. Why hadn't they developed that on Earth yet?

"Loki, how do I get past the fields?" he shouted, hoping for some sort of reply. After a few seconds, he groused a complain to himself and started pressing wildly across the panels in front of him. "Come on. Come on. There has got to be something here. Something stronger."

The panel flashed, the screens went red and a large number five appeared. Oh, what did he do?

He nervously watched the countdown. This wasn't a self-destruct, right? Shit. Should he tell Loki?

Then, it was on one and Tony held his breath.

The whole ship rocked with the resonating bang. It tilted dangerously to the side and flung Tony out of his chair. The dark space outside the cockpit windows lit up in bright light and then a second bang followed. His wide panicked brown eyes sought out the video feed of the enemy ship and watched as the once dark ship was surrounded in a sort of ethereal light that only weapons of mass destruction could form. The shimmering shield was gone, but the ship was not. He squinted at it. It was not quite whole, but that did not stop the ship from continuing its course directly for them.

_"Consider yourselves dead."_

That was nice. They certainly sounded friendly. Tony laughed, a small, strangled sound and pressed down with a little more desperation on the ignite button again. The purple lights hit directly onto the ship this time. A small victory. One Tony was realizing was rather useless. He needed another big weapon.

He found the same button as before. The screen flashed.

'Recuperation time: 5 minutes'

He stared at the large letters, cursing lightly.

 _"You always were so useless."_ The voice of a man he had not seen in years. Obadiah Stane stood as a faint silhouette in the corner of the cockpit. A sneer on his face. The resemblance to Tony's memories were all so uncanny. It felt almost like he was here.

Tony froze at the sight of him. His hands sliding off the console and clenching tight over the armrest, nails digging into the soft plastic cushioning.

"You're dead," he replied.

Why did he reply? He should just ignore him. Just ignore him like he does with the other ghosts.

Stane laughed, low and cruel. _"You're the one keeping me alive, aren't you, Tony? Always so desperate. You can't even prove your own worth to yourself. You know you deserved what happened to you. You deserved everything that happened to you."_

"Shut up," Tony hissed and tried to shake his head, the motion came out jerky, half-hearted.

_"Worthless little Stark. Never quite able to fill his daddy's shoes."_

Before he could reply, the image faded, and he was left with an echoing laughter in his ears. The dark outside the windows was being pushed back, a ship at least four times their size filling every space around them, surrounding them. Dwarfing them. Capturing them.

It was too late to fire back. Tony did not even have the strength to quiver as he felt something latch onto the ship, felt it shake and be drawn to the side.

Tony raced out of the cockpit, Loki's name on his lips, but the god was nowhere. Tony stumbled around the craft by himself, panic clawing at his chest.

"Search the ship." He heard coming from around the corner. He pressed tight to the wall, holding his breath, and digging shaky hands into the small groves in the wall. "Let's see who dares attack us."

Where was Loki? Had he left?

 _"Worthless."_ It hurt hearing it. It hurt seeing the pitiful look in the Spider-Kid's eyes.

 _"He just used you to hold them off so he could escape,"_ Stane said, replacing the image of the kid.

Tony could not even laugh; could not even cry, even as his vision was blurring with tears that refused to fall. There was an ache in his chest, familiar, like when he had put his trust in Stane, put his trust in Natasha and then Rogers. So many people he desperately needed—depended on—and each and every time they had stepped back from him, turned their backs and betrayed him. Loki was just one in many. One who should not even have deserved to be trusted on to begin with. Tony should never have gotten up hope. But he had, for so desperate was he.

How pathetic.

"That's okay," he said as a quiet reply, his ghosts the only ones there to hear. "This is okay."

He sagged against the wall, listless dead eyes staring out opposite of him, waiting. The fight in him was nothing but cooling embers of a once blazing fire. When they found him he did not fight back. Barely lifted his eyes to take them in, just noticed their inhumanness. Noticed the coldness of their skin, the darkness and how rough it felt upon his own when they dragged him forward, forcing his arms behind his back and practically lifted him off the ship. Their forms towering over him. He felt small compared to them. Not the same kind of small that Loki sometimes made him feel, something rottener, something so devalued that he could not even voice a complaint at the manhandling. He was but a flea on a wall. No. Cattle was far more apt of a word for how he felt. Something not priced but worthy enough to sell. Not that they said so. But something about them, about their ship when they dragged him onboard, hinted at merchants—scavengers.

The captain's eyes were a uniform yellow color, matted with not a single glow of light to them. "A human, all alone?" he said as a greeting, head tilting to take Tony in, seizing him up. "You should have just surrendered. We would have been far kinder if you had not gone and destroyed our shield."

Tony straightened against the weight of hands on his shoulders and mustered up enough anger at his situation to glare. He pulled back his lips in a snarl but had no words to say.

Loki had left him. Only worthless Tony getting captured. Stane was right, he deserved this. Tony was just a failure, unable to keep his promises, unable to protect that which was important to him. Always failing. Not even his so-called friends valued his company enough to stick around.

Rough fingers jerked his head up and Tony tried to step back, tried to wrench out of the grip, but it only gave him pain. His jaw smarted and the sadistic curve of the captain's lips told him it would be broken soon if he continued. He stilled, refusing to close his eyes.

"Should I kill you? Or should I not? Maybe sell you? But humans aren't very worthyfull. That ship, though," the captain said, amusement flickering over his face, "it should fetch a rather decent price."

Tony knew he was an unworthy being, but even so, when faced with the look in his captor's eyes that said he would die here, he could not help but wish to live a little longer.

He felt the fingers let go, took in the distracted look in the captain's eyes and activated his armor. It was only a small part, most of the armor was out of commission, but the nanobots answered the call for a gauntlet. They spread out in the blink of an eye covering his right fist which had been released and hung free by his side. He glared up through half-lidded eyes at the captain from his slight bowed position. And with a steady breath, he jabbed upwards, feeling satisfied at the harsh snap of cartilage breaking. The captain yelled out, angered, and pained as he staggered back a step or two. When he looked back at Tony, the nanobots had already disappeared, creeping beneath his clothes, and converging back into the Arc Reactor.

"You cretin," the captain hissed, stepping forward. Blood flowed from his nose and lips. Tony smiled up at him even as the hands on his shoulders tightened, forcing him down on his knees and wrenching both of his hands back, pulling on them until he felt his shoulders pop with strain. "What was that? A weapon? Did you truly think you would get away with that?"

"It certainly was satisfying," He said, defiance and a hint of glee in his voice even as he was held in a painful position. "Maybe you imagined it? I've heard delusions of grandeur is often cause for hallucinations."

"Playing foolish games," the captain said, gripping Tony's hair and forcing his head up at an odd angle before letting go. "Search him."

Tony growled at the hands over him, that pushed and pulled and touched. He did not like being manhandled but seeing the blood on the captain's face made it feel worth it.

"Captain," one of the subordinates said as he held Tony up by the neck of his shirt, pulling it down on one side to show the dull glow of the Arc Reactor underneath.

Tony felt close to hyperventilating when a hand reached out towards it. He did not even consider his next action before lunging forward, human teeth digging into dark tough skin. He ground down, trying to push through and draw blood. Anything to hurt and damage and protect what was his. In the end, his jaw hurt more than the captain's arm who backhanded him hard enough to leave his ears ringing and his eyes spinning.

Then, a fist slammed into his face and his whole body was thrown to the side, hands let him go and he slid to stop against a cold metal wall. At least he was free, however, the pounding ache in his jaw and the creeping blackness in his eyes made it difficult to muster any energy to push himself up on his arms. He laid there panting, trying to find stability as it felt he was out on rough seas. Everything swayed and tilted and dipped beneath him. If this continued, he might just puke. Lifting a hand to feel along his sensitive jaw he happily noticed that at least it was not broken, though he could not say the same for his head. He was concussed. He growled weakly against the arm his head was pillowed on and tried to focus on the enemies before him. Unable to lift his head as he was, he could only take in half their form.

"Pitiful human. If you had only stayed quiet, I might just have allowed you a quick death." The captain crouched down before him giving him a last look from yellow eyes before turning to leave the room. "Take it from him, do with him as you wish and then throw him out into space. Let him wither in its vacuum."

Tony watched fearfully as another burly alien-like man pushed him up roughly and fastening strong fingers around the Arc Reactor's core and tugged. Tony screamed angerly, writhing and kicking, hands coming up to claw at anything he could reach. His head was held by the back of his hair and he could not lunge forward to bite.

He felt the fabric of his shirt tear as the Arc Reactor came loss, and just as it was about to fall into the hands of these scavengers, the ship shook. Not a small, light shake. But a thunderous kind of grinding to halt stop of something traveling at lightspeed.

Tony managed not to get thrown straight across the room thanks to the hands holding him fast, but the pile of them slid unceremoniously across the floor and then changed direction mid-way, crashing back against the wall with Tony dogpiled at the bottom.

The grips on him slackened and lucky enough it seemed the alien men had faired far worse than him having smacked their heads into the wall upon their return journey. He kicked and pushed and pulled himself from underneath them even as he gripped ahold of the Arc Reactor with one hand, pressing it close to his chest and pulling strength from it.

He gagged as he pulled his legs up underneath him and sat back against his heels, a staccato beat in his head that made it impossible to hear what was going on. Had they crashed? He was certain there was yelling somewhere around him, at least there was a loud noise of some sort that was accompanying the red flashing light that filled the small room he was in.

Another rumble shook the ship and a scent of something sour filled the air. Even in his state Tony pressed the sleeve of his shirt against his nose, eyes prickling at the foul smell.

As the rushing in his head slowly subsided, he could hear a light laughter that echoed around the room. A serpentine hiss. He would know the sound anywhere. Loki was close. His thoughts ground to a halt at that revelation. He had not been forsaken to alien forces while the god used the time to escape.

"If you had just waited a scant moment longer, I would have had time to stall the ships engine without you needing to get pummeled. Have you not had enough injuries already, mortal? Or is it simply that you enjoy the state you currently find yourself in?"

Tony's eyes trailed over the empty room. "Loki?"

The god materialized before him, crouched low with vibrant green eyes fast upon him. "Indeed. Did you expect someone else perhaps?"

"Thought you left."

An uncomfortable shadow shifted in those eyes and the tightness with which the god usually carried himself fell away. "I have not left. And I have no plans to do so. Now, come. If we hurry, I can get you back into our ship before I let my magic take a hold of this one. Then, you shall be far away from the magic playing out and hopefully no further damage will come to you."

Strong arms pulled him up, it was swift upward motion and surprisingly enough it did not set Tony's world spinning. He glanced behind him to find the guards still. "What happened?"

"Just a little magic. Come now. Hurry."

He let the god pull him from the room and down a winding corridor that he had a vague memory of in his earlier state of shock. An airlock separated their ship from these scavengers and Loki pushed him through none to gently before closing it. "I will follow after shortly. Lay down for now." And then, there was only Tony again. Alone this time in the ship.

—V—V—

Loki took in the state of shock on the pirates faces and laughed lightly. "Surprise," he said as they eyed him cautiously.

"Is this your doing?" The large burly pirate who was their captain asked him.

"And if it was?"

"Then, you will die here."

A sharp smile tugged his lips apart even as he felt his eyes go cold. "I welcome you to try."

The pirate captain threw himself forward and with him came two others. Loki hardly spared them a glance before he threw them back with a flick of his wrist and met the jagged knife of the captain with the sharp glinting ones of his own.

"You think one measly man can stand against my crew?"

He evaded another thrust and let himself melt into the darkness that laid over the corridor from when he had stalled the engine. Only emergency lights flashed now. This ship would be going nowhere in the foreseeable future.

"Good thing I am no man, then." There was silk in his voice. Power in his words. He rematerialized behind a group hesitating to the side with knifes and guns held in their hands as they shifted in place awkwardly trying to find him. "I am Loki, Odin's son and I do not take kindly to your attack on my ship and my comrade."

His twin blades danced among them. Warm blood running a river along the floor as he felled them in their place. Shouts of anger met him, and shots rang out in the small corridor. The bullets far more dangerous to themselves than they were to Loki.

"You destroyed my ship," the captain hissed, pressing forward with his strength. "Don't think I will let you go just because you call yourself a god."

Loki swept his attack to the side and ran the edge of his blade up along a dark arm, far thicker in tissue than most mortals, but even so, it parted easily to his blade. "If this is all you have then you certainly were not worthy of so much of my attention. You have injured my companion and I fear I must return to him before he does something stupid."

With a last jump forward, he clashed blades one last time just to enjoy the enraged yellow eyes. He might not have been strong enough to handle Thanos and he might not have been strong enough to protect his realm, but that did not mean he was not strong enough here. And by Folkvangr did he enjoy the strength he commanded over these weaklings. He relished in the feeling of power. For how he had missed it. All battles he had lastly fought had held a tragic finality to them and he had been unable to enjoy them. This, however, felt much refreshing. It was almost renewing to be pitted against such wretched foes.

Sadly, he could not stay. Stark had looked to be upon his last legs and Loki feared what would happen if he left the man alone with his thoughts too long. Already his short time hidden away invisible while he snuck about to take down the ship had clearly been tasking on the man. To have thought that Loki would flee so quickly. To leave a mortal behind simply because an annoying enemy had appeared. That was not the sort of god he was, and it was an insult to be thought so lowly of. Even if it might be true when it came to how he treated his brother often enough. But his brother was no mortal and certainly no weakling.

Sweeping a last cold glance around at the felled bodies and the few who still remained standing he once again let darkness cloak him in its shadows and watched half-heartedly as the air grew heavy with magic. He stayed long enough to see the last few fall to their knees, their weapons clanging upon the floor and hands desperately clawing at their throats.

Then, it was his time to leave.

When he stepped through into their small little craft he immediately stumbled over the man. Tony had slid down against a nearby wall and he was certainly a sight to see in better light. A dark bruise already blooming over half his face and his arms an equally discolored patch of bruises forming over them.

"I see you got far."

The man groaned and sagged, if possible, down further along the wall.

"I will not carry you, mortal," he said, eyes drifting to the shut airlock. "If you do not stand on your own accord, I will leave you to rest here."

"Fuck you, Reindeer games," Stark grumbled and his lashes fluttered as he cracked tired dark eyes open. "Thought you left."

"And where would I go?"

Eyes darkened by sadness and pain drifted shut again and the man only shrugged.

Sighing, Loki crouched and tugged gently on a warm arm. "Come."

With a little prodding and pushing Loki was able to situate Stark in his bed. The man mumbling something beneath his breath that he cared not to listen to as he walked back towards the cockpit. The ship was still locked tight with the other ship and it took Loki not a little maneuvering and magic to get them loose.

He sank into one of the hard chairs and stared out at the dark vastness before him before closing his eyes and setting the ship adrift once again. Their journey in space had just been prolonged. Stark was injured again, and it would be at least another two days before Loki would feel comfortable enough with healing the new wounds, then another few days before they could stall the ship and allow him to open a portal to Alfheim.

He smiled thinking of the world. The smile lasted only a moment before melting away. Would they welcome him? They just have heard by now what befell his people. And they must know the affliction which Loki himself had brought upon so many within the nine realms.

Grimacing he pressed the flat of his palms against his eyes and allowed himself to drift into a meditative trance.

—V—V—

Far away from the two floating in space, in a hidden land in Africa known as Wakanda, a god and a troubled human sat eating pizza.

"This is very good," Thor said, holding up his half-eaten pizza, his voice booming throughout their kitchen area.

Bruce stared gloomily down at his own, barely a bite having been taken.

"You would think it would be more popular in other realms."

Bruce replied with a half-hearted, "Yeah."

"Do you think the Game Master would have liked this, this…" Thor looked at the box with a deep frown. "What was it called again?"

"Carnivorous pizza."

"Yes!" Thor's voice boomed happily. "Carnivorous pizza. Wonderful name. Food fit for kings."

Slowly, Bruce lifted his head from his own meal to look at the wide grin across the god's face. It felt unreal, felt pained, like the edges were twisting in want to be pulled downwards into a frown. He forced himself to look away. A part of him wanted to point it out to Thor, tell him to stop trying so hard. Another smaller part of Bruce took great comfort in the false happiness.

Game Master, he thought. The image of a tall man with blue hair popped into his mind. An ever-smiling man without an ounce of credibility to his expressions. Bruce had only known the man for less than a day. The memories of those two years were all the Hulk's, and for Bruce it was simply a black void.

He shivered at the thought of that planet. The weaponry. The pleased grins on the citizen's faces as they realized another match was going to end in death.

No, half a day had been enough for him. He refused to imagine himself stranded there for more than that. This time, the Hulk could keep his memories. But that did not help ease the curiosity that coursed through him. Questions of how and why.

Why had Bruce been in the backseat for two years? Why had the Hulk been competing in the arena? How had the Hulk felt about being in the driver seat for two years? How did the Hulk feel about Thanos? And what was the cause of his current absence?

"What do you think they are doing?" Bruce asked, taking a small bite out of the food before him.

The demigod chewed his food thoroughly with a thoughtful expression on his face. "Most likely something far more interesting than us. Do you think they are fighting?"

Bruce chuckled. "I hope not. But than again none of them have a good track record for being diplomatic."

Humming, Thor gave a decisive nod in response. "Diplomacy is not something I enjoy. It is far better to clash in a fight to show your will. I have come to realize it gives much better results."

He looked so pleased with himself over his wording, so happy to share in something that he felt strongly for, that for a moment the shadows in the room withdrew and the atmosphere became light and warm.

Bruce almost cried as the hidden pressure lifted itself off his shoulders. "It's a good thing you're stuck here, then," he said as a quiet reply and added a little more hesitantly, "I think the Hulk would have felt similarly."

"We became good friends," Thor replied. "It is sad to have not seen him for so long. I hope he will feel better soon."

Blinking, Bruce's hand froze before his mouth, food left hanging in the air. Guilt pressed in on him from all sides. "Yeah." He swallowed the lump in his throat. "I hope so, too."


	7. Chapter 7

The same news report had been circulating around for over a day now. People withering away on the streets; in their homes; while driving. Statisticians were trying to estimate just how many people had been lost and scientists were trying to figure out how these people came to be lost. And would they be gone forever. Was this death? Had the Apocalypse come, and would more cases of The Withering continue?

By now, it was background noise for Clint.

His grey eyes stared transfixed at the small family photo held in his hands. A beautiful reminder. They had been having breakfast just a day ago. They had been planning so many things: thoughts of vacation, future finances on how to get the kids through college. So many fucking things that had seemed trying and annoying and caused too many unnecessary arguments. All that was now but a pleasant dream. A time that Clint would give anything to be able to return to.

Laura and the kids, gone. He had searched the house desperately for his wife and found a small pile of grey dirt on the kitchen floor. The evidence, quickly disappearing with a sharp gust of outside air.

Next to him on the couch laid his bow, polished to perfection with sharp-tipped arrows next to it. They were there more for comfort than anything else. A safety net while he tumbled through the whirlwind of denial and hate and desperation. Thoughts of what if racing through his mind. What if he had remained with SHIELD, would he have been able to save them? Would SHIELD have been able to save them? Thoughts of what if he had just been kinder, if he had just given a little extra love yesterday morning, if he had just not argued with Laura over the stupid vacation to Oklahoma. If he had just done that, would the guilt be a little more bearable?

His quiet house and the circular talk of the news reporters gave him no answer. His house phone had not ringed ones. Not a single call from any of his old colleagues. It sunk his heart to imagine himself alone with all others gone. And it hurt even more to think they had no want of him if they still lived. Why had no one called? His phone contained none of their contacts, but Clint knew a few on the top of his head. Yet, he hesitated to call.

Two years ago, he had made a decision and then a decision had been made for him. Forced retirement. In reality, Clint was no longer solider. His bow might be next to him as was his gun, but contractual-wise, he had no authority to use them. Even if he wished to do something, he had lost that right. Part of him did not regret standing with Natasha and Steve. He had chosen his side and then he had chosen his family.

Now, with nothing left to keep him in his house. With just empty graves in the back with crude grave markers he desperately wished for the monotone work of being a SHIELD agent. He wanted Coulson's voice in his ear again and Natasha's coiled warmth next to him. He wanted work that was so hard and demanding that thoughts of depression never had a chance to bloom in the darker corners of his mind. He needed that.

Coulson had been a good handler to both him and Natasha. He had always been able to ground them. To bring them back when the darkness of their own minds became a minefield to traverse. Since his death, the two of them had been walking each day with careful steps, and Clint knew that Natasha was yearning for someone to ground her again.

Right now, Clint yearned for something similar.

A tired sound escaped him as he stood up, he teased the frame off the photo and held the preciously thin memento in his hand. He had waited one day. One full day and nothing more had happened. People had disappeared, his family had disappeared with them, but other than that, there seemed to be no sight of origin. Clint had nothing to go on. He also had no reason to remain here.

When he had been released from Raft two years ago, SHIELD had taken most of his possessions. With only a few phone numbers he could remember and none of them going to Natasha, he felt it best to let it be. For now, he would head for town. He already had a destination in mind, and it would be a long drive.

He took a large step over to the kitchen table and flipped the photo over. His handwriting was nothing special, but the three names and the date that he wrote on the back felt like the final nails in a coffin.

—V—V—

Two years previously

_"You have a choice to make, Mr. Barton." Fury stood before his cell, a dark shadow in the ever-blinding light of Raft. "And I am certain you will make the right one. After all, your price to pay for imprisonment is far higher than your friends. I doubt it is one you will pay happily."_

_Clint raised his eyes from the metal floor, trailing them over the man's form before meeting one hard eye. "Are you here to offer me something in return for information on Steve and Bucky?"_

_The man shifted his stance and glanced over at the other cells. Clint knew their speakers would be turned off. This conversation would remain private. The Director of SHIELD was doing it to seem disinterested in their conversation. A type of posturing that Clint hated._

_He tracked the man's movements, annoyed that he found himself questioning the man's motives. After all, Fury always had multiple motives and none of them he ever seemed more inclined for than the other. Clint would get nowhere by trying to discern a reason from the man by looking alone. "Even if that is what you wish for, I don't know where they are."_

_The cold eye returned to him with a lazy drag. "I would have been surprised if you did. Though, I can tell you that they seem to be on their way to Wakanda."_

_The information surprised him, but not as much as the one who gave it. He narrowed his eyes. "Why tell me this?"_

_"I told you, Mr. Barton, you have a choice to make."_

_"And what are those choices?"_

_A wry smile tugged Fury's lips open and he bent down, tugging a sheet of paper out of his coat pocket, and placed it in a small side compartment to Clint's cell. Clint eyed it for a short second before getting up, pulling the small glass door to the side, and dragging the paper out._

_"Retirement," Fury said, a happy tone to his voice that belayed the words that Clint found himself looking at._

_"You're discharging me from service."_

_"Forever," Fury added._

_The paper crinkled in his hand as he looked up, wide-eyed._

_Fury stepped closer to the glass separating them as if that would make their conversation any more private than it already was. "I think you will find it one of your better options."_

_He tightened his jaw. "The other options?"_

_Fury tipped his head to the side, his dark eye assessing. "Do you know the crimes you've committed? Do you have any idea the amount of laws that you've broken in the last few days alone?"_

_Frowning, he stared down at the paper. He had an idea of what sort of crimes they had committed. Not just him and Steve Rogers, but Iron Man as well. All of them who decided to fight it out at an airport in Germany. Superheroes turning on one another. His grimace bloomed over his features for all to see._

_"If you know where Steve and Bucky are, why not pursue them instead of handing me a retirement form?"_

_The man hummed. "You see, there are far more important things in the world than keeping track of you Avengers. And I will be the first to admit that the program was a complete failure. I had hoped," he paused, "that you all, being adults that you are, would know something or another about controlling yourselves. Yet, it seemed we were stuck babysitting all of you. Running off doing whatever you wanted, backtalking, childishly fighting and never seriously considering the power that had been deposited in your hands._

_Tell me, why do you think I am Director of SHIELD?"_

_For that Clint had no answer. He had never questioned Fury's right to the seat of director. It was a role that fit the man, much like how the bow fit in Hawkeye's hand._

_"It is because I am careful," the man continued. "Not because I am overly strong or more intelligent or have a better degree. It certainly isn't because I'm black. That, however, is not to say that I am patient, for I'm not. But when I make a decision I do so carefully, and this last act of you Avenger's has made it clear that no matter how carefully handled, you will always follow a will of your own."_

_Clint looked down at his hands, at the paper. "This came about because we could no longer trust your orders. Because SHIELD could no longer be trusted."_

_"I never asked you to trust in SHIELD. I asked you to trust in me," Fury said, voice sharp with reprimand. "Has Stark talked nonsense into your heads, has he filled you up with so much conspiracy theory and hate for authority that you forgot why you became a soldier?"_

_He snapped his head up at that. "I never forgot why I was a solider for SHIELD. But you would have us sit out and twiddle our thumbs when we could be out there helping."_

_"Helping? Who's putting these words into your head, Barton? The damage you all have caused has had far worse consequences than the wrongful act alone. You are all too volatile to be allowed to do as you wish. You've proven it over and over these last few years. Incapable of safely defusing situations. Incapable of controlling your powers. Incapable of handing delicate situations that require more than just brute force. In the end, what is the point of allowing you your right to act?"_

_The truth burned hard in Clint's chest. The guilt a bitter taste to his mouth. "So, retirement."_

_"Yes. You have a family after all. For now, Steve Rogers and James Barnes will lay low. And the rest of you Avenger's are either serving away in here or locked up in that tower that Stark likes so much. All of you, safely kept away from where you can do damage."_

_"What about Natasha?_

_A bushy brow raised at his query. "She is no longer your concern. Sign the papers and go home, Barton."_

—V—V—

Knowing where to go and being able to get there were two different things. Traffic was a mess. People drove on the sidewalks and over the grass to cut through traffic. All in an equal amount of hurry and panic as they tried to reach their destination.

Clint eyed another car as it passed him on the right, bumping up and down in the destroyed dirt that it drove through. He could see how tight the driver held the wheel; eyes focused to the front as if caught in the control of something far ahead. He shifted his gaze to his rear-view mirror to admire the flashing lights of an emergency vehicle, equally stuck in traffic as he was. Part of him wondered if it would soon take the new dirt road popping up to his right like the possessed driver earlier.

The car pushed forward for a second and then grounded to a halt before it had even reached past three miles per hour. When for the fifth time since he started counting a car not so far behind laid himself over his horn again, Clint decided to close his eyes and push his hands against his head.

"I'm armed and I'm not afraid to use armed force," he mumbled. The admittance that he wanted to do bodily harm to someone by itself helped calm his agitated state. It had been hours since he got on the road. Night was approaching and Clint had a feeling there would be no hotels open. He would have to rough it in the car if he could not get out of this traffic.

In all honesty, he was not in a hurry. That in itself did not lessen his want to get somewhere, though. Sitting here, watching the rage of other drivers, and knowing that with each second that passed that he was getting further and further away from the thing that took his family. How useless he felt. The feeling only grew as the clock ticked on and his car crept forward.

His hands shook as he gripped the wheel unnecessarily hard and there was a tightness behind his eyes. Clint Barton, ex-agent, had been reduced to a civilian. Oh, how he wanted to rush out, cut through traffic and demand action. To demand his right in the place where things were going down. For he was certain all governments all around the world must certainly be doing something. Yet here he was. He could not even loss himself to road rage. He felt hollowed out and dried up. All energy drained out, leaving him as a shell of himself.

He sat there for what felt like an hour more before his fuel light started flashing. With a last look at the chaotic road, he glanced in towards the forestry area next to him and then, down at his bow—disarmed and without arrows.

"Fuck it."

Twisting the steering wheel, he hit the gas. By now the new dirt road had layered out some and he was able to steer himself off the main road and into unknown territory. The Mazda managed splendidly over the terrain and Clint felt a weight fall off him just by being able to feel the car move forward again. It was slow going, but at least it was going. He glanced behind him only to realize two cars had decided to follow him which caused him to chuckle. A small part of him felt like he had just formed a small group of new friends to hang with, even if they were only cars with driver's whom he could not see.

By avoiding most roads and keeping to the grassy areas, he was able to steadily make his way forward. By the time night feel, he had to admit defeat and sleep in the car. It was a restless night of clutching his knife and eyeing the dark landscape outside his window. He slept in the driver's seat.

When it was bright enough to see the ground again, he straightened up and continued on.

His final destination was a storage facility. It had been years since he had last been here. Now, he looked around with suspicious eyes before driving up directly to the large white shutter that was his. There was no one there this early in the morning, but even so he felt the need to be on guard. After The Withering, there was a tenseness to the air. He had felt it during his drive. Had heard people yelling at each other from their windows. Turmoil was stewing and at some point, it would boil over, and violence would ensue.

Stepping out he made sure to pocket his knife, hitch his bow over his shoulder and lock his car before tapping in the code for the shutter. It rose up smoothly, well oiled and barely a sound from it. Just the way Clint liked it.

With a last glance behind him he went in and watched the shutter fall shut.

The lights flickered on upon his entry and the small storage area slash workshop lit up. It was just the way he had left it. A half-finished bow laid unstrung across the workbench. The memory of it caused his lips to twist upwards.

He sat down his bow and trailed ideal fingers over the old one. It brought back good memories. Memories of a time when the Avenger's Initiative was still new. When aliens had just been discovered and it felt like there was a purpose to people like him, like them. His eyes sought out the tall cabinet in the corner, it was slim and not as thick and heavy has the one that contained his weapons—weapons SHIELD had not taken from him.

In a small compartment laid an unopened package. A Stark phone. It was a gift from Stark himself. Clint hesitated to pick it up, remembering how coolly he had received it. How he had tuned the happy chatter of Stark out and taken the gift simply for not wanting to spend the time in arguing about not wanting it. Thinking back on the moment made the guilt come back. Tony Stark had given them a home to live in, had given them weapons and money and anything and more. Yet, not once had Clint felt the need to feel thankful or grateful or any other kind of emotion that might be acceptable to give in those situations. Two years with his kids and wife had taught him a lot about giving… and receiving. Clint had always been bad at both, especially if it did not demand an infiltration job and a lookout for an enemy. Now, the memory of himself felt sour.

He paused in picking it up, eyes trailing back to his bow. Memories of a time with Natasha flashed through his eyes. Those moments felt so close and yet so far away. What was he supposed to do? He had access to nothing; had no way of contacting the ones he wanted. Life was supposed to have been peaceful now. No more fighting, no more action, no more Avengers. He had traded it all away for something that was lost before he truly got to know it.

A family. The thought was entertaining and wanting at the same time. His wife, Laura, and him had crashed on so many fronts, but she had always been a stability during his time as an agent. A knowledge that there was a light moment outside the bleak world he lived in. She had been a strong woman and yet weak to so many things. Clint had been drawn to that. He had liked watching over her and then watching over their kids as they came. It had been a purpose that he had chosen himself. A mission that did not come with orders. Having it lost so abruptly left him feeling lost. Left him feeling powerless and like a dulled weapon whose purpose was gone.

He could not make himself pick up the phone for there was no place he could go and no one to contact. For there would be no one looking for discarded weapons.

Moving back to the bench he shuffled a small swivel chair out from under the counter and pulled a rag out from a drawer. The room was quiet, and he set to work on polishing the old bow, maybe he could re-string it. He contemplated the work before him and set about doing something that would keep his hands and mind busy. It was work he had done a thousand times: maintenance.

As he finished the old bow and it shun like never before, he tucked out the photograph of his family and gently balanced it against the wall before him. Watching them smile up at him. Watching himself smile up at him.

What a fragile moment in time.

Pushing away from the desk he unlocked the weapons cabinet and ran a critical eye over his weapons. There were guns, knives and bows of varying sizes and shapes. All his. And all with their own story to tell. Mementos of a darker life. So, contrasting from the picture behind him.

On the wall to the cabinet door hung an old hunter certificate and accompanied with it was a picture of Natasha and him, dressed dark and armed to the teeth. They looked young and they had been young. They had been unstoppable. At the top of their game. Back then, Clint had never thought it would be possible to retire. He had thought he would die in the line of duty. But he was not dead. He was just alone.

He glared at the reminders of his past and hiked a quiver over his shoulder, filled with sharp-tipped arrows, before slamming the door shut. Not bothering to lock it.

Grabbing the old bow on his way out he shut off the lights and hit the road. He knew where he would go next.

There was a large forest not far from here. He had hunted there in the past and he figured he might as well hunt there again.

After a quick stop of food and coffee, he found himself traversing mossy grounds and hunkering down behind bushes. Technically he had no right to hunt here, but he dared anyone to stop him. He almost wanted someone to stop him just so he could beat the crap out of them.

Regulating his breathing he allowed himself to fade into the scenery as much as possible. His sharp eyes easily pierced through the underbrush and caught movements of animals. Birds and rodents. And a small part of him lamented the loss of a human target.

He shook the sanguine thought out of his head and focused on the task of hunting. Anything would do. He just needed to feel the power. Feel the knowledge that he still got it. That two years away had not made him useless. Even though, deep down, he knew that the weakness he thought he had was only a reflection of his current insecurities.

He stayed there, isolated, for a long time. Lunch passed and soon dinner had as well. In the end, Clint had not killed anything. He had aimed his bow and drawn his arrow, and when the time had come to release it, he had found himself shooting off target. Watching the arrow fly passed the startled bird or rodent and land, harmlessly, among the bushes. The picture of a dead baby bird with a broken neck popped into his thoughts, and with it, the fearful look in his son's eyes as he disappeared.

Evening had long since fallen when Clint punched in the code and watched his shutters pull open. He felt tired as he locked himself into the workshop, movements dragged as he cleaned his bow and the arrows he had managed to find before locking them away with a definite clang.

There was a small cot situated to one wall that could be pulled open and now Clint happily fixed himself into his old sleeping area. It was cold, but he hardly cared as he unfastened his boots and pulled hidden weapons from his being to stash around the flat pillow and under the thin mattress. Today, he had shot until his arms ached and his back strained. He had run and crouched and walked until his feet felt sore and his thighs cramped from the strain.

In the forest, creeping about, he could almost imagine Coulson's voice and Natasha's steady presence. He could almost forget the last two years and even the six long years before that. The good old days had not been all good, but they certainly had been better than where he found himself today.

He had to admit defeat. His denial could no longer sound credible.

Clint wanted back. He needed back. He could not talk himself into believing he was better off retired, shooting innocent animals in the woods and hoping some would pick a fight with him just so he could feel alive again. So that he could feel useful.

He glanced at the unopened package of the phone and let his want reign. Reaching for the phone and tugging it out of the box. A sleek black thing, far too thin to seem durable and yet, he knew, like Stark's other things that it would outlast even him in a fight.

It powered up with a press of his finger, shimmering red before a mechanic voice greeted him.

_"Welcome, Hawkeye."_

His breath stuttered in his chest and with the voice the letters spelled out over his screen. "Hawkeye," he whispered, thumbing over the name. Not agent Barton, not Clint, but Hawkeye.

There were no settings to type in, the phone just powered up and Clint blinked down a the flashing words in the middle of his screen. A message. One message and with it a desperate hope bloomed in his chest. He tapped it with a shaky finger.

The mechanic voice was back. _"Would you like to hear the message?"_

Swallowing, he wetted his lips and sank down into his cot, the hum of the ventilation loud in his ears. "Yes."


End file.
